Traffic Report
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: This is a McGee story, but Gibbs, Ziva, and Tony all play major parts as well. 29 chapters all told. It starts with a car accident and ends with... well, you'll have to read and find out. Now complete. Please read, review, and mostly enjoy!
1. No, It Can't Be

**A/N:** This is a pretty long story. 30 chapters or so. McGee again... as usual. It's based entirely around a thought I had while watching the 6 o'clock news one evening. I had thought it was going to be a oneshot or maybe a twoshot. Ha. Little did I know where my thoughts would take me. I have to give special props to Shellie for giving me some great inspiration. However, if you don't like it. Don't blame her. :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any part of NCIS. The bad guys are mine... why can't I lay claim to the good guys?

**Premise: **During traffic reports, we often get information about accidents. This information is generally given without comment on the severity of the accident beyond its effects on commuters. The reporters merely state the facts and relate it to the inevitable traffic jams. Who really thinks about the people involved when they hear about these "incidents" on the radio? But what if you found out that it happened to someone you know?

**Chapter 1**

"_And I-495 is still jam-packed from a busy commute this morning. Traffic is moving, but slowly. It looks like some of the gridlock is easing and the traffic is getting closer to freeway speeds. We'll keep you updated as usu– wait. Did any of you just see that? Sorry, folks. Looks like the Beltway is about to come to a stop. A car just plowed through about three other cars and has blocked off all westbound lanes just past the US-29 interchange. It looks like a bad one. We'll give more information as it becomes available. You're listening to Majic 102.3 FM."_

The melodic strains wafted through the car and Ziva, clenching the steering wheel tightly, decided that Tony was _not_ choosing the music this time.

"Tony, we're not listening to this station." Ziva leaned over and turned the dial.

Tony slapped her hand. "Well, we're not listening to that crap you call music." He switched it back.

"Tony, so help me, if you touch me again, I'll rip your throat out."

Suddenly, Tony glanced ahead. "Ziva, hit the brakes!"

"What?" She looked back to the road and immediately slammed on her brakes. The smell of burned rubber filled the air as the car screeched to a halt just inches from the car ahead of them.

"Whoa. What was that?" Tony asked, adrenaline pumping from their near miss.

Ziva, calm again, quickly turned the dial to her preferred station. They both quieted as the radio announcer resumed his report.

"_This is your eye in the sky on Majic 102.3. For those of you sitting on I-495 and wondering why the freeway has become a parking lot, I'm sorry to say that there's been a four-car pileup just past the interchange with US-29. You won't be going anywhere for awhile, folks. I recommend that you sit back and relax._"

Tony sat up and peered through the windshield as if trying to see what was going on up the road. There was no sign of anything beyond the seeming thousands of cars all drawn to a standstill. He groaned. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

Traffic inched forward and stopped again. They sat in silence for about ten minutes.

"I knew we should have stayed off the interstate. Taking the Beltway is never a good plan."

"I don't recall you mentioning this _before_ we got on the road," Ziva spat through gritted teeth.

"Everyone knows that. Two of the interchanges are in the top ten worst in the country."

"_Everyone_ knows this?" Ziva asked looking pointedly at the hundreds of other cars in the same situation.

Tony just groaned again and leaned back in his seat. Traffic again moved forward for about thirty seconds before the brake lights flashed all over the road.

"Come on. Tell us something about how to get out of this," Tony begged the radio.

"_Wow, I'm just flying over the accident now. Looks bad, folks..."_

"Who cares?" Tony said. "Tell us something important."

"_There are three ambulances on the scene. Lots of flashing lights down there."_

"Information, please!" Tony said.

"Quiet, Tony. I can't hear what he's saying."

"_Looks like the police are clearing people away from one of the cars. There's a fire. I hope no one is..."_

The announcer cut off suddenly as black smoke began billowing up toward the sky and revealed the exact location of the accident.

"_That was amazing! One of the cars just exploded! Luckily, it looks like the fire hasn't spread to the other cars. Fire crews are moving in to douse the flames._"

Forty-five minutes later.

"Well, we're not getting to Bethesda any time soon," Tony said unnecessarily.

"No, really?" Ziva asked sarcastically. "It would probably be faster to walk."

"Ha. Go ahead."

"And let you drive? I don't think so."

"I'm better than you. I, at least, watch the road."

"Whatever, Tony."

"Well, I..." Tony broke off as the announcer came on again.

"_Emergency crews are still on scene. Police are directing traffic onto the right shoulder, but traffic is obviously still slow..."_

"No way. I would never have figured that out myself."

"Shut up, Tony!"

"_It appears that there may be some fatalities, but we have no information as yet. We'll keep you updated."_

As promised, eventually traffic did begin to move, but the speedometer never even hit 10 mph.

"I am _so_ bored."

"Tony, you'd be bored no matter what was happening."

Tony scrunched up his face and asked petulantly, "Are we there yet?"

"No... and if you start repeating that question, I'm going to kill you."

Tony just smirked and leaned up to change the station. Ziva immediately grabbed his hand and bent it backward.

"Ow! Hey, let go!"

"Don't change the station. I like it where it is," Ziva replied calmly. She didn't release his hand.

"All they're doing is giving updates. There's no music. Let go!"

"Don't touch the radio again, Tony." Ziva kept her eyes on the road as she spoke but maintained the pressure on Tony's hand.

"Ow! Ow! Okay, okay. I won't touch it."

"Good." Ziva released his hand.

"_We're getting reports that there were two fatalities in the accident. One of the drivers is still stuck in his car and another is being life-flighted to the hospital. We still have no word as to what caused the accident or if there was anyone inside the car that exploded. Traffic is still crawling, but we can report that I-495 is moving well beyond the interchange._"

"Moving well. Of course it's moving well. No one is on it."

"Tony, why do you persist in speaking to the announcer when there is no way for him to respond?"

"It keeps me sane, Ziva."

"Muttering inanities to a piece of equipment keeps you sane?" Ziva raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. It does. What's our speed?" he asked craning his neck.

"We're almost at ten miles per hour. ...and now we're back to zero."

"Great."

Another twenty minutes.

"We're almost up to the accident now. We'll get there." Indeed, the black smoke was thicker now and they could both see the flashing lights up ahead.

Tony's phone starting ringing, and nearly simultaneously Ziva's did as well.

They both looked at their displays. "Gibbs." They said together.

"He's calling both of us?"

"How?"

"Which one of us is going to answer?"

"You do always tell me that talking and driving is dangerous, Tony."

Tony sighed. "No, Ziva. I just say that _your_ driving is dangerous. You driving and talking on a phone is suicidal," Tony clarified as he answered the phone. "Yes, Gibbs?"

"Aren't you at the hospital yet?"

"No. We're still stuck in traffic."

"You've been gone for more than two hours. The FBI is getting antsy, not to mention their witness."

"I know, Boss, but there's this huge accident on the Beltway and..." he trailed off as they reached the site. It took up about a quarter mile stretch of the freeway. The left three lanes were blocked and packed with police cars and firefighters. Tony gave each wrecked car a glance as they passed, just long enough to note that the accident had been really bad. Then, finally, they came upon the car that had exploded.

"Tony. Doesn't that–?" Ziva didn't finish, her eyes going wide.

"No. It couldn't be. McGee had the day off today. He was even bragging about it..." Tony's voice faded to a whisper as they reached the burning hulk of a Porsche Boxster.


	2. The Accident

**Chapter 2**

The twisted metal license plate had a couple of numbers visible.

"That's McGee's license plate," Ziva said when she recognized the placement of the numbers.

"Pull over."

"Where?"

"Just pull over. There! Pull over there." Tony pointed to a space just in front of the emergency crews. Suddenly, he realized that Gibbs was shouting his name on the phone. "Hey, Gibbs. That accident? We think McGee was part of it. We just saw his car."

"Is he there?"

"I don't know, Boss. We're going to find out." Tony disconnected as Ziva turned the key and stopped the car.

They got out and headed over to the site, coughing as the wind carried the smoke still pouring from the Porsche into their faces.

A police officer tried to stop them from getting closer. "Sorry, no entrance. This is..."

Ziva whipped out her badge. "NCIS. How many casualties?"

"NCIS? Why are you here?"

"Just answer the question."

"Three fatalities. Two died en route to the hospital and one in that car." He pointed to the Porsche. He didn't notice the shock on their faces. "Two are in serious but stable condition. Two others in critical condition. One life-flighted and the others on the way. Then, there's the guy we managed to get out of the car before the gas ignited. He's over there, not talking much, but he was the driver. There's another ambulance on the way for him. He insisted that the others go first. Nice of him considering it looks like it was his fault." Tony and Ziva followed the officer's gesture and saw Tim sitting on the road, a paramedic kneeling by his side.

"Thank you, Officer. Can you give us any details?" Ziva asked, masking the relief she felt.

"Not many, I'm afraid. That guy is the only one able to talk right now, and he's _not_. He just sits there. No ID and obviously there's not much left in the car. But as far as we can tell, he's the one who caused the accident."

"I see. Thank you for your time. We'll go speak to him."

"Good luck." The officer left them and continued his surveillance.

As they walked toward Tim, Tony said, "McGee caused this accident? I doubt it. He's way too careful, the opposite of you. And who was the other guy in the car with him?"

"I don't know. I intend to find out." She stalked ahead of Tony. "NCIS," she said to the EMT. "How is he?"

"Well, beyond the fact that we can't seem to get him to tell us anything, he's fine. He has a concussion and he'll be needing a few stitches, but he's alright. How he got out of this mess unscathed is beyond me."

"His name is Timothy McGee. He's a federal agent," Ziva said. She knelt down in front of Tim. His eyes were glazed as he stared straight ahead. "McGee. What happened?"

Tony followed Tim's gaze to the remains of his car and moved into his field of vision, blocking the sight. He crouched down next to Ziva. "Hey, McGee. Sorry, about your car."

Tim blinked and his eyes moved up to their faces. "Tony. Ziva. What are you doing here?"

"Talking to you. What happened, McGee?" Ziva asked again.

Tim's eyes flitted around the chaos, the remnants of four cars strewn across the interstate, the slow-moving vehicles in the right-hand lane and back to Tony and Ziva. "An accident," he said vaguely.

Ziva held back a smile. "Yes, I'm aware of that. How did it happen?"

Tim shifted his gaze to the EMT still crouched by him. "How many people died?"

"Uh..." she looked pleadingly at Tony and Ziva.

"How many?" he asked again, this time looking at his teammates.

Finally, Ziva relented. "Three died, McGee. Two are stable and two more are in critical condition."

Tim nodded and stared at his hands which were scraped and bloody, much like his face. "I killed three people." The words were spoken in a monotone. "I _killed_ three people."

"_What happened_, McGee?"

"Is the man in the car with me... is he dead?"

"Yes."

Tim sighed with relief, and again, he nodded. "And I'm alive."

"Yes, but what happened, McGee?" Ziva was getting annoyed as well as concerned.

Suddenly, Tim tried to stand up, but was held down by the paramedic. "I need my phone. It's still in the car. I need to–I need to make a call."

Tony chuckled. "Probie, if your phone was still in the car, there's nothing left of it now. It's toast."

Tim sank back to the ground. "There wasn't a bus, was there?" he whispered, looking at the ground.

Tony smiled at the non sequitur. "No, McGee, no bus, not this time."

"Good." Before Ziva could ask a fourth time, Tim finally started to answer. He didn't look at anyone. It was almost as if he was figuring it out as he went along. "It wasn't supposed to end like this. I didn't plan it this way."

"Plan what?"

"The accident. He grabbed the wheel at the last minute. I tried to keep it straight to the barriers, but he got to the wheel too quickly. I couldn't keep it from swerving. I didn't want anyone else to get hurt."

"You were trying to get in an accident? Why?"

"I couldn't stop him any other way. It was the only way. He was in the back with his gun. We were going around the turn and I knew it was the only thing I could do to stop him. I yanked the wheel toward the barricade. The gun went off. He reached past me. I tried to keep him away. It took so long. Three people...It wasn't supposed to happen, not like this..." Tim trailed off as he started crying.

The final ambulance could be heard as it sped up the interstate. Suddenly, Tim looked up again. "I need to go home." He tried to stand and again was held down by the paramedic. "No, you don't understand. I _need_ to go home."

"No, sir. You _need_ to go to the hospital."

"No, I don't. I have to go home." He grabbed at Tony and Ziva as he pulled free of the paramedic's restraining hands and reeled. "Please, please. I have to get home."

"Why, McGee?"

"Sarah. She's still there."

"McGee, you're not making any sense."

"Sarah is still _there_. I'm here. I have to go back." All the while Tim was speaking, he was holding on to Tony and Ziva to keep himself upright.

Tony grabbed Tim's arm and said, "I'm sorry, McGee. I have to agree with the EMT here. You need to go to the hospital."

Crying as much from frustration as from the shock of his recent experience, Tim tried to explain. "You don't understand," he sobbed. "I did this for Sarah. I have to get back."

He let go of his colleagues and started to walk in the general direction of his apartment, but crumpled to the ground after only a couple of steps. As the three gathered around Tim, the final ambulance arrived. They dragged him over to it and helped the other paramedics get him in.

"Please," he begged, incorporating a wealth of meaning into that single word.

"McGee, we'll go to your apartment and check on Sarah, okay?"

"Okay." Finally, Tim subsided and let the paramedics close the doors.

"That was very strange."

"Let's go."

"Right." Tony and Ziva walked past the carnage to their car and sped off to Silver Springs.


	3. Sarah

**Chapter 3**

When they got to Tim's door, Tony knocked. There was no answer. Never one to let that stop him, particularly when Tim's apartment was involved, Tony bent over and quickly picked the lock.

"NCIS. Hello? Sarah McGee?" Tony called. There was no answer.

"I thought you said Tim was neat. This place is a mess," Ziva observed as she pulled out her gun.

"It's been clean the times I've been here." They walked slowly, clearing every area. There was no sign of Sarah.

"We still have the bathroom," Ziva said and pointed out the closed door. Tony nodded and they headed toward it carefully.

"On three," he said. "One, two... three!"

They flung open the door and moved in quickly. Pulling aside the shower curtain, Ziva revealed a battered, restrained and gagged Sarah McGee. She looked at them with frightened eyes.

"Hi, Sarah," Tony said putting his gun away. "We'll get you right out of this. Don't worry." He looked at the duct tape on her mouth. "This is gonna hurt, alright?"

She nodded and he felt her body tense in preparation..

Tony smiled encouragement and pulled off the tape.

"Ow!"

"Sorry."

"Is Tim okay? Did you find him? That guy didn't kill anyone, did he?" Sarah asked as soon as she could talk.

"Yes. Yes. Sort of," Ziva answered succinctly. "What can you tell us?" she asked as Tony worked on removing the rest of the duct tape binding Sarah's hands and feet. Once she was free, she hugged Tony tightly.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Then, she blushed and pulled back. She looked at Ziva. "I thought you said Tim was okay. Didn't he tell you what happened?" She stood and followed them into the living room, leaning on Tony a little as the blood rushed through her extremities, making them tingle. She sat down on the chair before Ziva answered.

"He wasn't very clear."

"Why not?"

"Probably a result of his concussion."

Sarah was alarmed. "Concussion? What happened to him?"

Tony interrupted. "He's fine, Sarah. He was just in an accident. He's at the hospital, but he's fine. No broken bones, no coma, just a concussion and a few scrapes. So what happened?"

"You're sure he's okay?"

"Yes. We're sure."

"Okay." Sarah took a deep breath. "I can't tell you much. Tim and I were going to go home for a visit this weekend, sort of a McGee family reunion." She smiled sheepishly as Tony and Ziva raised their eyebrows. Tim had never mentioned his actual plans for the weekend and now they knew why. Sarah continued, "We've been planning for months, trying to find a weekend when we were all free. It happens so rarely. Tim was in the bathroom getting ready to go. I was out here waiting for my turn."

"And?"

"I thought I heard the door open. I turned and there was a man standing there. He grabbed me. I screamed, and Tim ran out. But the guy had a gun and he threatened to kill me." Sarah got a little teary, but she managed to push on. "He said that Tim had to do exactly what he told him and he wouldn't hurt me. Tim just stood there with his hands kind of up. He was scared, but he asked him what he had to do. The guy just laughed and said that Tim had to help him kill someone. Then, he hit me and I woke up in the bathtub." She shrugged helplessly. "That's it."

"Did he say who he wanted to kill?" Ziva asked.

"Not while I was conscious. Sorry."

"That's okay," Tony said. "We'll take you to the hospital. You can get checked out and see McGee while you're there."

"I'm not going to get interrogated this time, am I?" Sarah said, only half-joking.

"Of course not... unless you think it's necessary," Ziva answered with a trace of a smile..

"No. Definitely not."

As they walked out of Tim's apartment, Tony pulled out his cell phone and called Gibbs. "Boss, we found Sarah. She's all right, but she says that some guy used her to force McGee to help him kill someone. We're taking her to the hospital now."

"Fine, but after you do that, check on our witness. I'll talk to McGee. We can't let this take precedence over the case."

"Is he ours then?"

"He is now; so hurry it up."

"Got it, Boss." Tony hung up and watched mournfully as Ziva got to the driver's side first again. "Sarah, you should probably get in the back. You're not going to want to see Ziva's driving up close."

"Very funny, DiNozzo."

Sarah looked back and forth between the two agents. She wasn't feeling the greatest after her experience, and this time, Tony looked... well not sincere, but at least honest. "I won't take any chances this time," she said smiling weakly and got into the back seat.

"At least take pity on the wounded, Ziva."

"Why, so you won't feel sick yourself?"

Tony gave up. "Let's just go."

"Whatever you say, Tony," Ziva said, grinning maliciously as she got in the car.


	4. Guilt

**Chapter 4**

"_Well folks, it looks like the mess is almost cleared. We're down to one blocked lane and as soon as they load up that torched Porsche, all lanes will be open. Of course, the damage has been done and traffic will probably remain slow on the Beltway for the rest of the day. Avoid it if you can. You're listening to Majic 102.3 FM, and now back to the music._"

Tim sat on a bed in the ER while a doctor shined a flashlight in his eyes for the umpteenth time. He'd been sitting there for hours, listlessly waiting for something to happen. Tim didn't know what the doctor could possibly be looking for in his eyes, but he didn't really care. All he could think about was that he had killed three people. The one, the man who had hit Sarah, he actually didn't feel guilty about. In fact, he was almost glad he had died. Almost. Tim had felt so helpless in his apartment, his gun out of reach and Sarah looking at him in terror. He had been so angry that he had wanted to kill the man, but right now the anger was overwhelmed by his horror at having killed two innocent people and injured four others. It didn't matter that his captor had been the one to jerk the steering wheel back into traffic. If he had kept driving, kept doing as he had been told, the accident wouldn't have happened.

Two useless deaths. He had seen one of the victims before the paramedics had lifted her into the ambulance. She had been so small, just a child. He felt ill as he remembered the long brown hair matted with blood, the battered face. A little girl who would never grow up. The EMTs had been trying desperately to revive her, but Tim could see in their faces that it was useless. They had managed to get the woman who was driving out of the car, but who knew if she'd survive. He had heard the police officer commenting to someone about how ironic it was that the cause of the accident got away with so little damage. Why did the innocent ones always die?

"Mr. McGee? Sir?"

Tim became aware of a hand waving in front of his face. He shook his head slightly to clear it. "Yes?"

"How do you feel?"

He shrugged. "Fine." As if it mattered how he felt.

The doctor watched him and saw the turmoil in his eyes. "Well, just sit tight. Is there someone you can call?"

"I don't know." What if Sarah was dead? What if Tony and Ziva had found only her body? What would he do if the whole reason for this atrocity turned out to be groundless?

The doctor made a note on the chart, but all he said was, "We can't release you just yet. You seem to be over the worst effects of the concussion you sustained, but we'll need to keep you here for observation for a few more hours. Is that alright?"

"Yes." Observation. To make sure he didn't run probably. Tim didn't feel like he had enough energy to make it to the door, let alone out of the hospital.

"Someone will be by to check on you later. Okay?"

"Fine." Why would they even bother? He was a murderer. His car had been the weapon.

The doctor looked a little worried as he left. He caught the arm of a nurse. "Keep an eye on that guy. I put a request in to Psych, but they're so shorthanded today that I don't know when anyone will get here. I'm worried."

The nurse looked at the motionless figure on the bed. "Is that the guy from the car accident this morning?"

"Yeah. I think he's pretty messed up."

With some heat, the nurse replied, "He should be. Three people are dead because of him."

"Julie, hush. We don't know the details." He looked back at Tim who hadn't reacted to their quiet conversation.

Only a little chagrined, Julie said, "I'm sorry. It's just that I had to tell the father of that little girl that his daughter is dead and his wife is in surgery. I just came from the husband and wife who were visiting DC on their thirty-fifth anniversary. They're lucky to be alive. And then, I had to tell the parents of a college student that their son died just twenty minutes after he had spoken to them and that his fiancé is in a coma." Her voice rose, "And there he sits with only scrapes and bruises. It just isn't fair."

"No, it's not. The ones who deserve it never seem to die," a soft voice agreed.

Startled, Julie turned back to Tim and saw that he had heard her. She didn't know what to say. It was too late to take back the words.

The doctor looked at her sternly and said, "Just keep an eye on him, Julie."

"Yes, sir," she said quietly and glanced at Tim briefly before continuing on her rounds.

Left alone, Tim went over the morning's events yet again. Was there anything he could have done differently that would have saved those people?

"_If you want her to die, keep it up, hero." The words had been sneered. This man was not one to be trifled with. If he said he'd kill Sarah, he meant it. Tim stopped, motionless and just looked at Sarah as her head lolled lifelessly on the floor. He hadn't felt this much helpless rage since... well, since Erin had died. The knowledge that he could do nothing to help Sarah settled in his brain and began to encourage the festering anger. The man pulled a roll of duct tape out of his pocket. "Tape her up."_

"_What?"_

_Again, he pointed the gun at Sarah's head. "Tape. Her. Up. Wrists, behind the back, ankles and mouth. Do a good job. It won't hurt her. Or at least it will hurt a lot less than a bullet through her brain."_

_Fury warring with an intense fear, Tim caught the tape as the man tossed it to him. As he started to roll the tape around his sister's wrists, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Sarah."_

_In a voice dripping with sarcasm, the man said, "That is so sweet. Hurry it up, bro. I don't have time for your bonding, and make sure that tape is tight. I'd hate to check her out and have to kill her because of your misguided attempts to save everyone. Someone has to die today, Timmy. You have to choose who it will be."_

_Tim finished taping Sarah as tightly as he could without cutting off the circulation. He looked up at the man again, his hatred now taking precedence over his concern for Sarah. "Now what?" His voice was a whisper because he didn't trust himself not to shout._

"_Put her in the bathtub and close the door." When Tim didn't immediately move, the man fired a shot into a book lying on the chair. "Next bullet goes into your sweet little sister."_

_Tim picked Sarah up and, as gently as he could, laid her in the bathtub. Then, he shut the door securely behind him. "And now?" he asked defiantly._

"_Now, you're going to be my chauffeur. Let's go. And no funny business. If you try to attract any attention, I'll simply kill you and then your sister."_

"_Why are you _doing_ this to me?"_

_While Tim was almost out of control with anger, the assassin was completely calm and collected. This was business to him. "I told you. Someone has to die today. It's your choice. A stranger or someone you love. You get to choose who lives and who dies."_


	5. Death Inside and Out

**Chapter 5**

"Where's your sister, McGee?"

Tim barely blinked when he heard Gibbs' voice, the words of his late captor echoing in his head. "I don't know. In the bathtub." Was she alive? He was both dying to know and afraid to know.

"Tony called and said they were on their way. They haven't been here yet?"

"No." That must mean Sarah was alive. Something good had happened this morning. It wasn't much; it couldn't remove the guilt, but it was something.

"How are you doing, McGee?"

"Fine." Why did those people have to die? How was it possible that only a few hours ago his greatest worry had been whether or not he and Sarah would get home early. He had been so excited about the family reunion. He hadn't told Tony or Ziva because he could pretty much predict their reactions. It was going to be the first time in a couple of years that the McGee clan would all be together. The family together. Unlike those people he had killed whose families would never be complete again. A mother and her daughter. A son just coming back from introducing his fiancé to his parents. Lives torn apart in an instant. He had done that.

"McGee, did you hear me?"

"What?" Tim refocused on Gibbs, his respect for his boss momentarily pulling him out of his self-loathing.

"I said you don't look fine."

"Oh. I'm fine," Tim said in the same lifeless tone that had dominated his speech since he had reached the hospital. I'm fine, he thought bitterly. I just killed three people today, but don't worry, Boss. I'll get over it. It will only take a million years. I made a choice, and I have to suffer the consequences for it. "But I'm not the only one," he whispered, not realizing he'd spoken aloud.

"The only one what, McGee?" Gibbs asked, impatiently.

"Nothing." Finally, Tim stirred himself enough to ask a question. "Is Sarah okay?"

"As far as I know. Tony and Ziva are bringing her here and then they'll go question our witness. Since you had the weekend off anyway, we won't be missing anyone."

Tim nodded absently. He felt no curiosity about the case he was missing.

"What happened, McGee?"

Suddenly, the monotone, the emptiness was gone. "I killed two innocent people, Boss. That's what happened."

"Only two?" Gibbs asked. "The report said three."

"Two _innocent_ people," Tim said angrily. Anger, even as conflicted as his own was, was an emotion easier to deal with than guilt.

"What about the man in the car with you?"

"I'm glad he's dead. At least..." As the tears threatened to fall, Tim stopped until he could control his emotions.

"Why?" Gibbs' question held no accusations, but Tim heard it that way.

"Because he was going to kill Sarah!"

"Why was he going to do that?"

"I had to choose, Boss. I had to choose, and I chose Sarah. He knew I would. He didn't think there was anything I could do. I knew there was one chance. I decided..." he trailed off and the animation left his face.

"McGee, please, try to be clear."

Before Tim could answer, Sarah called out his name and ran to his bed, hugging him tightly. "Tim! I'm so glad you're okay. I didn't know what was going to happen."

Tim hugged her back. "Are _you_ okay?"

Sarah gently fingered her bandaged cheek. "Yeah. The doctor says I'll be sore for a few days, but there's no permanent damage. I think Tony ripped all the hair off my arms when he took the tape off." She didn't notice Tim wince at the mention of her restraints. "So, when do you get out of here?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know. We should probably call Mom and Dad and tell them that we're not going to make it home."

"We're not? Why?"

Tim strove to remain calm, to prevent the breakdown he could feel from coming out, the black hatred he could still feel beneath the surface. "Sarah, that guy died, and my car is totaled. We have no way to leave town, and I'm sure I'll have to be here during the investigation."

"Oh. I didn't think of that," Sarah said glumly. "Well, I've been given the all-clear sign; so I can stay with you for a little while."

Tim shook his head. "No, you should go to your dorm and get some sleep. Call home while you're at it. I lost my phone."

"Are you sure, Tim?"

Painfully aware of Gibbs' continued presence in the room, Tim nodded. "Yeah. My apartment is probably a crime scene now. You won't be able to stay there, but I'll tell you when they're done with me here. Don't tell Mom and Dad about the accident, though, okay? I'll tell them myself."

"Okay. You sure you're okay?"

He forced a smile. "Positive. I'll just sit here in my luxurious accommodations until I'm released."

Looking a little sheepish, Sarah asked, "Do you have your wallet? I didn't grab mine before I left."

"He didn't let me..."

Gibbs interrupted, pulling a couple of twenties out of his pocket. "Here, you can borrow some money from me. I'll just dock your brother's next paycheck."

Sarah smiled. "Thanks, Agent Gibbs. You know, you're a lot less terrifying this time around."

"I do my best."

Sarah smiled and hugged Tim once more. "I'll see you later, Tim."

"Bye, Sarah."


	6. Why Bethesda?

**Chapter 6**

After Sarah left, Tim knew he was going to have to tell the whole sorry tale. It was all over the news anyway; it wasn't like he would be saying anything Gibbs didn't already know, but somehow, he felt that actually saying the words would make it real. He kept repeating it over in his mind, those moments that had seemed to last an eternity.

"_Where am I going?"_

"_Bethesda."_

"_Where in Bethesda?"_

"_Just get on the Beltway and start driving. I'll tell you where when you need to know."_

_They drove in silence for a few minutes. Then, the man took out a cell phone and starting talking. _

"_We're on our way. No, I got a ride already." At this the man smirked at Tim. "Don't tell me how to do my job, Jackson. You hired me; now, let me do it. _I_ didn't screw up. You're intel was bad. You're supposed to know these things. Why didn't you warn me about the other guards? Isn't it _your_ job to keep track of assignments?" The man looked up. "Take exit 34 and head toward Bethesda."_

_Tim looked at the sign that they had just passed advertising for the Naval Hospital. Where else would they be going? Why else would he have chosen to risk kidnaping Tim, a federal agent, if he didn't need him somehow?_

"_Right, so when do I get the rest of my money? Not that I don't trust your honesty or that of your...employer, but let's just say that you might have some trouble of your own if you try to stiff me." He winked at Tim. "Good. That's what I hoped you'd say. Not at all, Jackson, just making sure we're on the same page."_

_It suddenly hit home to Tim that this man had not bothered to hide his face, nor had he made any effort to disguise his voice or his conversation. This was not the kind of man to leave things to chance. He wouldn't leave eyewitnesses around to describe him and what he'd done. He was going to kill Tim regardless of the outcome. And if he was going to kill Tim, what would stop him from going back to his apartment and killing Sarah as well?_

"McGee?"

Again shaken out of his recollection, Tim answered automatically, "Yes, Boss?"

"I asked you where your doctor was."

Again, Tim shrugged. "I don't know. There's a nurse out there who is supposed to be keeping an eye on me. Her name is Julie. She might know where he is."

Gibbs almost sighed in relief. It was just about the most coherent thought Tim had expressed since he'd been here, but still he didn't like the look in Tim's eyes. "I'll be back, and I'm going to want to hear the whole story, McGee. So make sure it's understandable."

"Yes, Boss." Tim watched Gibbs leave and walk down toward the nurses' station. Left alone, he fell back into the memory of what had happened that morning.

_What could he do? Now that his mind was finally working again, Tim knew he couldn't let this man reach his destination alive. If he'd had any doubts that Sarah would be in danger, they had evaporated once the realization of the man's intentions had come clear. He quickly added up his assets. The list was depressingly short: no gun, phone out of reach for now...his car. The man wasn't wearing a seatbelt. If he could crash the car into the barricades, then he might be knocked out at the least, at best... Tim tried not to complete the thought, but his anger and loathing of the man in his back seat took precedence over his usual understanding nature. He gave his mirrors side glances. The traffic wasn't moving especially fast at the moment, but he noticed that the outside lanes were speeding up. He could veer into the left lane and crash into one of the places where there was a space between the barricades. He could save Sarah _and_ the target. No one would have to die except maybe him and the killer, a worthwhile tradeoff to Tim's mind._

_Tim continued to drive in silence, all the while watching for his chance. Then, he saw it: A hole opened up in the left lanes. With no further thought, he pushed on the gas pedal and veered into the space._

"_What do you think you're doing?!"_

_Tim ignored the voice and swerved again, luckily, just as the man fired. The shot went wide and the passenger window and mirror exploded. He saw his chance. A space in the barricades. He sped up, breaking the speed limit for the first time since he'd had this car. He was amazed at how smoothly it accelerated. He wouldn't have guessed that he was hitting 85 mph. Beautiful. What a shame. Then, his moment of observation ended as the assassin gave up on the gun and grabbed the wheel._

_For the first time since getting in the car, Tim spoke, shouting as his car veered back into traffic, winging a passing SUV, "No!" He couldn't stop trying. They were all dead if he didn't succeed. His mind set on that single course of action, Tim elbowed the man in the face and yanked the steering wheel back in the other direction, this time failing to look at where the other cars were. He was seeing through a reddish haze of fury, his world narrowing to the steering wheel and the hands fighting to control it. He looked over just his car slammed into a minivan. The extra hands on the wheel disappeared, and his world started to spin out of control. Tim felt another violent jerk as he impacted another car and his own went airborne. Time slowed down and he felt a surge of adrenaline as he watched the world turn upside down. Then, he heard a crash and felt the crumpling of metal, the heat from sparks as his car hit the ground, and flecks of glass flying at his face. He had time for a rush of satisfaction and then everything went black._


	7. External Blame

**Chapter 7**

"I'm looking for an ER doctor."

The nurse didn't even glance up. "Which one? We have a few here."

"Whichever one told someone named Julie to keep an eye on my agent," Gibbs said grimly.

Startled by the use of her name, Julie looked up and became helpfulness personified. "Oh, that's me. I'm Julie. Your agent would be?"

"Timothy McGee. He was in a car accident this morning."

Gibbs noted the hardening of her expression as she answered. "That would be Dr. Fowles. I can page him you'd like."

"Yes, thank you." So, she blamed Tim for the accident. It wasn't unexpected, and from what little he had been able to gather, Tim _had_ been responsible, but not completely. However, he realized that it was going to be difficult to convince other people of the fact.

A few minutes later, a youngish doctor in scrubs came up to the station."What is it, Julie?"

"Someone here to see you about Timothy McGee."

Dr. Fowles looked over at Gibbs. "Are you his father, sir?"

In spite of himself, Gibbs laughed. "No. I'm his boss. His family is currently out of town. I need to speak to you about McGee."

"Of course...?"

"Gibbs."

"Of course, Agent Gibbs. This way, please."

When they were in the comparative privacy of an empty hallway, Gibbs asked, "How is he?"

"Physically, I'll be able to release him soon. His injuries were miraculously minor. I don't know how he managed to get out so unscathed. He'll definitely be sore and he's not to be alone overnight, but, physically at least, I would have no trouble releasing him today, pending a quick checkup."

"And mentally?"

Dr. Fowles was very solemn. "Mentally, I think he's much worse. I don't know the story, and _I'm_ not making any judgments against him."

"But?"

He sighed. "But you talked to Julie? She's pretty typical of what I've heard from a lot of the staff today. Mr. McGee heard some of her comments, but as cruel as they were, I don't think they could possibly compare to the things he probably saying to himself. I've been trying to get someone from Psych down here, but we're a bit shorthanded today. I think he's going to need a lot of help working through this. At the very least, once he's released, I wouldn't leave him alone at all. Until he's been evaluated by someone more experienced, my diagnosis is that he's suffering from intense guilt and depression."

"Suicidal?"

"Possibly." When Gibbs raised his eyebrows, he amended, "Probably. At least right now. He needs time to work through what happened, to think objectively, and he's not doing that now."

"How long will it be before he can be evaluated?"

Dr. Fowles shrugged helplessly. "I'm not sure. I've put an urgent tag on my request for a psych evaluation, but physically, I won't have much reason to hold him in a few more hours."

"Thank you, Dr. Fowles."

"Don't mention it, Agent Gibbs. This is my job. It's not my place to pronounce judgment on my patients. I just try to heal them." He shook Gibbs' hand and returned to his work.

Gibbs, now alone in the hallway, shook his head. It was as he had feared. Quickly, he shook off his uncertainty and headed back to Tim's bed. He didn't have enough information yet to make a decision. Tim would at least clear up the events of the morning for him.


	8. Tortured Realizations

**Chapter 8**

_Tim's first thought upon regaining consciousness was that the world appeared to have gone crazy. When had the clouds changed places with the ground? It was certainly odd. Then, he was conscious of an increasing ache in his head and his body registered distinct discomfort with its present position. He saw a hand, bloody and mangled, out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't his hand. His own hands were still miraculously gripping the steering wheel. So, whose was it? Reality reasserted itself in a flash of clarity. Tim looked around the car, wincing as he did so, and realized that his plan had succeeded. It looked like the would-be assassin was dead. Before he started to congratulate himself, however, he began to take in the noises from around the car. A babble of voices talking about different people._

"_I can't get to her! She wedged. Can you see where her leg is caught?"_

"_We need an air lift for this one; otherwise, she won't make it._"

"_Unconscious, non-responsive."_

"–_a severed artery. We need to stabilize him."_

"_Hello? Ma'am, can you hear me?"_

"_There's too much blood! We're losing her."_

"_Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"_

_It took a moment for Tim to realize that the voice was talking to him. He turned his head and saw a concerned paramedic crouched upside down, looking at him._

_For a long moment, the words she spoke to him had no meaning, and he stared blankly. Then, as his mind caught up to events that had just transpired, he understood her repeated question and answered,"Yes."_

"_Good. We need to get you out of the car. Can you help us do that?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Good. Now, I'm just going to check you out first, and then we'll get you out of the car, okay?"_

"_Okay." All the while she was talking to him, feeling his arms and legs, checking his neck and spine, Tim could hear the other voices. He suddenly remembered that he had hit other cars. "Oh, no," he whispered to himself. He had hurt other people._

"_I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"_

"_No. No." Tim knew that something very bad had just happened, and he had been the cause. "No."_

_There were urgent voices close by, but Tim didn't know what they were saying. In his desire to not hear the results of what he'd done, all his attention was on the EMT. She sounded extremely nervous as she said,"Okay, sir, what I want you to do is push the button to release your seatbelt, and I'll help you out of the car. Do you understand?"_

"_Yes. Now?"_

"_Now."_

_Tim took off his seatbelt and the paramedic quickly pulled him out of the car and away from the wreck. She didn't stop when he was clear but continued to pull him down the street, a far distance from his Porsche._

"_What about the other man in the car, sir? Do you know if he is alive?"_

_Tim considered. "I don't think so." Please, let him be dead. It wasn't until the explosion, the blast of heat and smoke that washed over him, waking him to his surroundings, that he started to look around at the scene. Horrors met his eyes everywhere he looked. Blood, broken glass, broken bodies. All because of him. He had done this. He saw a little girl being loaded into an ambulance. He had chosen this._

"_Come on! Come on! She's not responding!"_

_She looked about ten years old. He remembered when Sarah was that age. This little girl had probably been brimming with life, just like Sarah, but now she was dead. Tim could see it. He had killed her. The paramedic came back to him a few minutes later and started to ask him questions while checking his face and hands. He couldn't find the words to answer her. All he could do was look at what he had done and wonder how much suffering he had caused. However much it was, it was too much._

"McGee, snap out of it!" Gibbs smacked Tim's head, gently though.

Tim blinked, back in the present. "Yes, Boss?"

"Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning." Gibbs hadn't decided exactly how to approach Tim's problems. He was putting off dealing with that by getting information. He didn't feel he could make a decision without knowing the facts.

The only part of Tim's face that showed any emotion were his eyes. They roiled with suppressed emotions as he began to relate his experience.


	9. Terence

**Chapter 9**

As Tony and Ziva walked down the hallway, a smartly dressed FBI agent stood and looked at them condescendingly. "You sure took your sweet time getting here. I thought NCIS was supposed to be a cut above or something like that."

"Well, if the FBI is so great, why is your witness refusing your protection?" Tony retorted. "We're a cut above you, that's for sure."

Before the FBI agent could reply, Ziva stepped in between the two men. "If you two would stop your silly..." she paused, searching for the correct word. "...macho posturing, maybe we could focus on the important things, yes? Is he in there, Agent...?"

"Gyllenskog," he answered. "Yeah, he's right in there."

"How is he?"

"He lost a lot of blood, but the doctors say he'll heal up just fine. He refused to go to any other hospital."

"Why did he pick the Naval Hospital?" Tony asked, with a trace of his previous antagonism.

Agent Gyllenskog grimaced. "He said that the Navy cared more about its patients than the FBI did about its witnesses."

"Thank you, Agent...Gyllen...skog," Ziva said, tripping a little over the unfamiliar syllables. "We'll just go in and introduce ourselves. He has still agreed to have FBI presence, hasn't he?"

"Yes. This is still our case. You guys are just helping out."

"Don't worry, Gyl," Tony said, teasingly. "We won't spread it around... not too far anyway."

Ziva elbowed him sharply in the stomach. Tony doubled over as they left the agent's presence and headed to the secured room. "Honestly, Tony. Do you have to insult every other agency in this country?"

"He's a dork, Ziva. Those guys screwed up and now they want us to keep their tails out of the fire."

"Nevertheless, your ego is not at stake. Could you at least try to act like a professional?"

Tony's response was a snarky grin and a slap on Ziva's rear end. She responded by elbowing him a bit lower than his stomach. As Tony tried not to sink to the floor, Ziva smiled brightly as she stepped past him into the room.

"Hello, you are Terence Ainsworth?" Ziva asked politely.

The man lying on the hospital bed looked anything but trusting. He looked down at a piece of paper in his hand and back up at Ziva. "You don't look Italian," he said nervously.

"I'm not. I'm Israeli." Tony staggered in behind her. She jerked her head toward him. "He's Italian."

"Which one of you is David, then?" he asked in confusion, pronouncing Ziva's last name with a short "I."

"I'm Officer Ziva Dav_id_ and this is Agent Anthony DiNozzo." Ziva was willing to cut the man a little slack considering his recent experience. "We're here from NCIS."

"You're Israeli?" Terence asked. Ziva noticed that he had a trace of a British accent which waned as his nerves calmed.

"Yes. I'm...on loan from Mossad."

Terence smiled wanly. "A long story, I take it?"

"You have no idea."

"Well, I'm glad you two are here."

Ziva found herself responding to the overt relief in his voice with a sympathetic smile. Terence Ainsworth was a middle-aged bookish man with a receding hairline. He looked like a professor or a librarian. And he also looked completely overwhelmed by the strange world in which he'd landed.

Tony finally recovered from Ziva's "rebuke" and approached Terence. "Can you walk us through what happened, Mr. Ainsworth? We've been sitting on the Beltway all morning, and we didn't have a chance to get caught up on this case."

"The Beltway, huh? I heard on the radio that there was an accident a few hours ago."

"Yeah, it was bad," Tony agreed, thinking of Tim.

"You knew someone in the crash?"

"How did you know that?" Tony asked, surprised by Terence's intuition.

"I could just tell by the way you spoke. Is your friend okay?"

"He'll be fine."

Terence nodded. "I'm glad. I know what it's like to lose someone." He faltered and then took a deep breath. "Okay, so you need to know everything?"

"Yes, if you could."

"That's fine. It's just an accident that I'm involved in this at all. I work in special collections at the archives. I'm not an agent or anything, but sometimes, the local police or the federal agencies request analysts for reading texts, breaking old-fashioned codes, examining art, that sort of thing. I've been a consultant for the FBI, the police department, even for the Navy a couple of times."

"And this time?"

"This time it was the FBI. I'm regularly a part of a counter intelligence group. It's called National Counter Intelligence Working Group. Creativity doesn't seem to be one of the FBI's strong points," he commented wryly. "It's a group of people from the FBI, academia, businesses who meet occasionally. It's supposed to be a way to foster awareness of the dangers of espionage and to explain how to prevent it. What generally happens with me is that I'm called in to help out with various cases that fall under my purview. However, this time I came to them."

"Why?"

"They'd intercepted an illegal shipment of what looked like museum artifacts: artwork, old books. It's my area of expertise, and they wanted me to authenticate the pieces."

"How long does that kind of thing usually take?"

"It depends. If there's even a suspicion of forgery, authentication can take days. I was working on the project for about two weeks, mainly because I was only working on it when I had a break from my regular job. Most of the stuff was so obviously forged, I looked at it more closely than I had planned."

"Why? That seems a little backwards."

"Too much time with the FBI, I guess." Terence laughed. "No halfway decent collector or curator would have been fooled by these things. I don't know why they would have even bothered. What was stranger though was that there _were_ a few genuine artifacts among all of the junk. I still don't know why that is. It doesn't make any sense."

"What about the forgeries?"

"It turns out that they weren't actually supposed to be forgeries. They were disguises."

"Disguises for what?"

"Information. It was quite clever, really. If the FBI had given this project to someone unused to the concept of counter intelligence, it probably would have gone unnoticed. Whoever these people are, they embedded sensitive information under the surface of the paintings and texts. I found it because I used ultraviolet light and X-ray fluorescence to bring up the images beneath the paint. It's a non-invasive method of investigation, and until very recently, Stanford was the only place to get it done in the country. They did all the work on that Archimedes palimpsest that came out last year."

"What kind of information did you find?" Tony asked, passing over the irrelevant material. He knew Tim would have been sidetracked by the techno-babble, but he was not interested in how Terence had found the information, just what the information was.

"FBI intelligence. It's evidence that they have a mole. I don't know who the mole is, but once I took what I'd found to the agents in charge of the case, they immediately put me under 24-hour surveillance. I trusted them to protect me and to protect my family. I guess I never really thought I was in danger. That's the kind of thing that only happens on television." He swallowed hard. "I was terribly wrong. Two days ago, my wife and I were going out, and someone shot at us. I only got hit in the shoulder, but Jillian... she's in a coma. The doctors don't know when or if she'll come out of it."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ainsworth. Most people would pull out after something like that, not just request different guards."

In an attempt to disperse the pall that had fallen over the room, he smiled weakly and said, "It's a flaw in my genetic makeup. Don't back down to bullies. I just never thought they'd go after my family as well. My children have been whisked away somewhere. I don't know where. I'm going to be separated from them until the mole is found. I don't know where Jillian is either. I only get reports on her progress, or lack thereof." He looked at them earnestly. "I just want to survive this. I'm no hero. I'm a glorified librarian, and I'd like to tell what I know and then go back to that. That's why I asked for you to be a part of this case. I don't know who the mole is, but I know it's not in NCIS."

"Hero or not, Mr. Ainsworth, I'm impressed with your attitude."

"It took me five years to become a U.S. citizen. I'm not going to cut and run at the first sign of trouble."

Tony and Ziva smiled at each other. They found themselves truly liking this British librarian. The initial interview complete, the two agents set up the security detail and cleared it all with Agent Gyllenskog. Then, they settled down to wait.


	10. Mental Status

**Chapter 10**

"I'm telling you, Boss. This guy knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn't..." Tim trailed off as he had so often during his narrative. It was as if he was losing his train of thought, only it was that he didn't want to be thinking about it at all. Paradoxically, he couldn't think of anything else. "He didn't care about me, about Sarah, not even about the guy he was going to kill. It wasn't personal to him. It was like..." And then, a rueful expression came over Tim's face at the comparison which had come into his head.

"What was it like, McGee?" Gibbs asked. Any expression was an improvement over the blankness that had dominated so far.

"He was like Bruce Willis' character in _The Jackal_," Tim said, flushing. "Don't tell Tony I said that." His gazed shifted away from Gibbs and around the room, never settling on anything. "This was just a job to him. It wasn't that he enjoyed tormenting us. He acted as if he was doing the things that were needed to get the job done."

"So what did he need? Why did he go to your place?"

It was as if Gibbs hadn't even spoken. "You know, Tony made me watch that stupid movie with him a couple of weeks ago. It's actually a remake of an older movie which is based on an even older book. The Jackal dies at the end. Richard Gere's character, who's Irish by the way... I've never really seen Richard Gere as a convincing Irishman. Anyway, his character saves a little girl at the end and he kills the bad guy. He's the hero."

"What are you talking about, McGee?"

"I still remember that scene in the subway or wherever it was. The Jackal kept telling the girl to shout for Declan to save her. He made her scream it over and over."

"McGee!"

Tim just cleared his throat. His eyes flicked back onto Gibbs briefly before roaming around the room again. "I think he needed me to help him get into the Naval Hospital. Any federal agent would have done, but why he picked me, I have no idea. We-we didn't get far enough for him to tell me where exactly we were going, but I'm pretty sure it was the Naval Hospital. It had to have been a place that he couldn't just sneak into."

Gibbs nodded. It made sense. "What made you decide to crash your car?" He kept his voice carefully neutral. This was the part he knew Tim didn't want to talk about.

Tim avoiding making eye contact as he tried to explain thoughts that had taken seconds to form and didn't mention the emotions behind his decision. "He said that I had to choose who would live and who would die. If I didn't help him, he would kill Sarah and then kill me. If I tried to get help, he'd kill me and then go and kill Sarah. I could let Sarah die or some stranger I had never met. I didn't have my phone. I didn't have my gun. He was sitting in the back seat with his gun. I couldn't chance doing anything that wouldn't end up with him incapacitated. I didn't know what to do, but then, I heard him talking on his phone, and I realized..."

"What?"

"He wasn't trying to disguise himself in any way. I told you that he was a professional. He wouldn't have risked letting us see him if he hadn't planned on killing us anyway. If he succeeded in reaching his target, he would have killed me, and then he would have killed Sarah so that there were no witnesses. I couldn't let that happen."

"So, you decided to use your car as a weapon?" Gibbs prompted.

"Yeah. It was a weapon." For a moment, Tim looked ready to dissolve into tears, but he forced them back and continued in the same dead voice. "I had planned it out in my head. There are all these barriers along the highway and sometimes there are gaps. I-I figured I could swerve into one of the gaps and wreck the car. He wasn't wearing his seatbelt. At-at best, he'd be knocked out. At worst, he'd be dead. Either way, Sarah would be safe and I wouldn't have to help him k-kill anyone else. I had it all planned. I saw the gap, and space opened up in the left lanes. I swerved and sped up, but-but he-he grabbed the wheel." Tim stopped talking. His emotions were running too high. It felt as though his throat was closing up.

"You could have been killed, too, you know."

"I know. I could have been." Tim forced the words out and shook his head at the irony. "But I was dead anyway. I might as well have died on my own terms, instead of his."

Gibbs was interrupted by the entrance of another doctor; this one was not in scrubs.

"Hello," the doctor said vaguely, looking down at his notes. "I'm here to speak to a Timothy McGee. That would be you?" He pointed to Tim.

Tim just nodded.

"Great. I'm Dr. Tanner. I just need to ask you a few questions, and then you can be released." Dr. Tanner turned to Gibbs. "We'll be needing some privacy, sir."

Gibbs looked frankly skeptical of this doctor. He had obviously been sent down from Psychiatry without any background of what had happened. He also looked like he was in a hurry and not much interested in the problems of his patient. Still, he _was_ a shrink. Gibbs shrugged and left.

"How are you feeling, Timothy?"

"Fine."

"You were in a car accident?"

"Yes."

"Was it a bad one?"

Tim winced, but Dr. Tanner didn't even notice. He was looking at Tim's chart. "Yes."

"You were lucky to get out alive it seems."

"Yes. Lucky."

"So, how are you feeling?"

Tim shrugged. It was becoming a habit. "Fine."

"No problems with road rage?"

Tim looked incredulously at the psychiatrist who had not once done him the same courtesy. "No," he said tightly.

"I see that a few other people died."

Tim said nothing.

"Any lingering feelings of confusion?"

"No."

"No missing blocks of time?"

"No." The last few minutes before the accident were a bit confused, but Tim didn't think this man really cared. Not that it surprised him. No one really cared.

"Any problems with agnosia?"

"I don't know what that is."

"Oh, well. Not important. Hallucinations?"

"No."

"Uncommon mood swings?"

"No."

"Disassociation?"

"No."

"Sleepwalking?"

"No."

For the first time, Dr. Tanner looked at him, but still he didn't really see Tim. He saw him as bits of information to be recorded on a form, not as a human being. "You're looking a bit scruffy."

"I didn't have a chance to shave this morning."

He looked down again. "Tattoos?"

"What?"

"Do you have any tattoos?"

"Is it important?"

"You never know."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Yes. One."

"I see. Well, I'll put you down as taciturn." He quickly ticked a few boxes on his paper. "Any phobias?"

"No."

"Any manias, delusions, or pre-existing mental disorders?"

"No."

"You seem quite conscious and coherent. Any aphasic disturbances?"

"I don't know. What is that?"

"No, you don't seem to. History of violence?"

"No."

"Amnesia?"

"No."

"Any plans for a funeral?"

"No." What was this man talking about? Tim watched as Dr. Tanner went down his list of possible mental conditions and checked a couple of boxes. Then, he scribbled his signature in the box on the second page. Tim got a glance at the form he was filling out: _Mental Status Examination: Rapid Record Form_. It figured.

Dr. Tanner was in full automatic drive. He rattled off the next few sentences with all the concern of a statue. "Okay, you're free to go. According to your chart, you can't stay alone tonight in case of a recurrence of the concussion symptoms. Other than that, you seem fine. If you have any problems, just give us a call."

"Okay."

Dr. Tanner added the form to Tim's file and, without a backward glance, left the room. Gibbs returned in his wake, and looked at Tim.

"I've been released," he said tonelessly.

"Really?" Gibbs was surprised. Dr. Fowles had intimated that Tim would have been admitted at least overnight for observation. He picked up Tim's file and looked. Sure enough. Dr. Tanner's signature was on Tim's release form. "Okay, then. You're staying with me for tonight."

A gamut of emotions flitted across Tim's face ranging from panic to embarrassment. It finally settled on an expression of chagrin. "That's not necessary, Boss."

"Actually, it is. It's in your file. You're not to be alone for the next 24 hours. Tony and Ziva are busy with our other case; Abby is still at that forensics conference; and your sister's dorm would probably not be a viable solution. So, unless you would rather stay with Ducky and his mother, you're coming home with me."

"No, Boss. I don't... It's not... I... fine." Tim stood slowly and picked up his bloodstained jacket.

Wordlessly, he followed Gibbs down to the main entrance. After he checked out, he and Gibbs started out the doors when a veritable cloud of people rushed in from the street all shouting that they needed to see their parents who had been in an accident. Where were they? How bad was it? When could they see them? A few were crying. Gibbs glanced over at Tim, but beyond his clenched fists, Tim gave no indication that he'd made the connection. He kept walking without turning his head to look at them. He didn't want to see the people whose lives he had destroyed. Even though he made no overt acknowledgment, Gibbs noticed that Tim seemed to get smaller, as though he was huddling in on himself, which was trick considering he was taller than Gibbs himself was. Still, he kept walking. He said nothing when they got into Gibbs' car. The silence as they drove to his house was deafening. All the while, Tim was replaying the accident in his mind, seeing the people he had killed, the lives he had wrecked. What had he done?

--------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N:** That form really does exist. I did not make it up, although I'm sure that Dr. Tanner was not using it correctly.


	11. Pass Muster?

**Chapter 11**

"Where's Agent Gyllenskog?" Ziva asked curiously when she returned to Terence's room that evening.

The new FBI agent barely looked up from his magazine. "His shift ended. I'm Agent Lowe. I have the night shift."

Ziva cocked an eyebrow. "Don't let me interrupt your important reading," she said sarcastically.

"Okay."

"You know, I'm beginning to think that my partner was right."

"About what?"

"FBI agents _are_ dorks." As she walked past him, she kicked his feet which were propped up on a chair.

"Hey!" He jumped up, all attention now focused on Ziva. "What's your deal?"

"My deal?!" Ziva said in amazement. "This is the reason Mr. Ainsworth didn't trust you people in the first place. You don't care. He is your whole case, and you don't care." She turned to leave, but Agent Lowe grabbed her arm. Automatically, she turned back, grabbing his arm and quickly flipping him over on his back. "If I had been one of the people trying to kill Mr. Ainsworth, you would be dead now and it is only with great restraint that I leave you alive. You are a pathetic excuse for a U.S. federal agent." She released his hand and walked to Terence's room taking great pleasure in the faint moans coming from the vicinity of the floor.

"What took you so long?" Tony asked.

"I had to check out the new agent on duty."

"And did he pass muster?"

Ziva furrowed her brow. Silently, her lips shaped the words "pass muster" trying to associate a meaning to it.

"Was he a satisfactory example of an FBI agent?" Terence said helpfully while Tony just chuckled at her difficulty.

"Ah. No. I made it quite clear to him that he was lacking a few important skills."

"Really?" Tony stood up and walked to the door. He stuck his head out into the hallway and looked over at the unfortunate Agent Lowe who was just picking himself up off the floor. He laughed aloud and said, "I'm sure the message effective."

"He'll definitely think twice before touching me again, at least."

"Most people do," Tony leered.

Ziva picked up the files she had gathered. She removed a single paperclip from one of the manilla folders and brandished it threateningly. "Do I need to remind you of what I could do to you with this?"

"Not at all. It's quite clear."

"Good." She turned to Terence who had been watching the exchange with amused interest. "I brought your case file. Could you go over what you found with me, please? I'd like to understand exactly how this information would have been found and who would find it useful."

"Certainly, Officer David. I would be delighted to show you." He opened the first folder and began to go over how he had found the information and why it had stood out to him. Tony pulled up a chair on the other side of the hospital bed and listened attentively. Even with their attention focused on the mini-lecture, both Tony and Ziva had an eye and ear out for anything unusual. Like Terence, they had little trust in the interest of the FBI in protecting him.


	12. Blood and Water

**Chapter 12**

"Don't lurk in the doorway, McGee. Step inside. You're going to let all the bugs in."

Timidly, Tim followed Gibbs into his house without comment. He'd never been there before. He felt he was treading in hostile territory. The house was furnished in a style that begged the description simple, if not austere. It was definitely a bachelor's home.

They had stopped briefly at Tim's apartment to get clothes and things. As Tim had predicted, it was a crime scene, complete with yellow tape. They didn't stay long, and neither of them had made any comment until now. Gibbs was deciding whether or not he should try to talk to Tim about what had happened. He knew well enough how deeply-rooted Tim's sense of responsibility was. Even when he hadn't done anything wrong, he could brow beat himself into depression. This time, it _had_ been his fault, at least partially. How he was taking it, Gibbs couldn't tell through that stone face Tim was currently using, although he could guess. It wasn't as if Gibbs could take him to an interrogation room and wait until he broke. On Tim's part, his mind was stuck in a never-ending spiral into a black pit of self-loathing. He wasn't showing any emotion, not because he wasn't feeling anything but because he was afraid that if he let anything out, he wouldn't be able to stop it. He was actually feeling too much for his mind to handle and in the absence of any healthy outlet, all the rage, guilt and shame he had heaped on himself was festering and growing. Over and over he heard the mercenary's voice: _You get to choose who lives and who dies._ Those six people had not chosen. Tim had chosen for them and had chosen pain and death.

"McGee."

Tim looked quickly at Gibbs, shifting his blank gaze from its rapt contemplation of Gibbs' kitchen.

"You can stay in here," Gibbs said, indicating a spare room.

"Thanks." Tim started walking toward the room, but stopped and turned back. "Boss, if you need me to help with that other case you were talking about before, I can. I won't be going anywhere this weekend," he said, in the same deadly monotone.

"I'll keep that in mind. Don't worry about that for tonight, McGee."

"Okay." There were no protestations, no defenses. Tim just took the suggestion and accepted it without any thought.

Just as the somber mood threatened to overwhelm them both, Tim's stomach rumbled. Although he tried valiantly to suppress his reaction, Gibbs couldn't resist a smile. Tim himself had a good sense of the ridiculous, even if he didn't normally express it. Exasperation warred with embarrassment on his face and he let out a helpless chuckle. If the torment hadn't faded from his eyes, at least the mood in the room lifted a little.

"Put your things away, McGee. I'll get dinner ready."

There was no use pretending that he wasn't hungry. He hadn't eaten all day; so Tim just nodded. "Okay, Boss." The room consisted of a bed, closet and chest of drawers. He tossed his bag on the bed and looked around, wondering what he should do. Aimlessly, he sat down on the bed and looked at his hands. Then, he noticed a smear of blood on his arm. He had a lot of little cuts from the broken windshield, but that smear... Suddenly, he couldn't bear the thought of that blood being on his arm. He _had_ to get it off. He stood and walked out, looking around for a bathroom.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?" Gibbs was on the phone.

"Uh, bathroom?"

Gibbs just pointed as he started talking. Tim almost ran in the indicated direction and then, started frantically rubbing at the blood on his arm. Water splashed everywhere as Tim scrubbed and scrubbed almost to the point of rubbing off the skin. Still, there were no tears, just a tortured whisper, "Come on, come on." While he was washing his arm off, he noticed blood spattered on his shirt, one of his many MIT shirts. Tim looked around wildly and saw a washcloth hanging on the towel rack. He grabbed it and started scrubbing at his shirt, still whispering, "Come on" over and over, to no avail. In desperation, he pulled it off and shoved it into the sink, soaking the entire shirt, all the while scrubbing at the blood. The sink overflowed, sending water onto the bathroom floor. Tim never heard Gibbs come in. The first thing he knew of his presence, a hand reached around him and turned off the water.

Tim looked up at Gibbs and then around at the bathroom. Water dripped everywhere. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw himself shirtless and the wild, panicky expression that was slowly fading from his face. He didn't know what to say. "I-I'm sorry, Boss. I was just...that is, I don't know why..."

Gibbs just shook his head and took the soaking wet t-shirt from Tim's hands. "Dinner's ready, McGee. Go put on a different shirt."

"Yes, Boss." Tim shuffled out, leaving Gibbs to look around his bathroom in dismay. It was becoming obvious to Gibbs that Tim should have stayed at the hospital, but he knew that getting him back there voluntarily would be nearly impossible. That Dr. Tanner was either an incompetent shrink or he hadn't paid any attention to Tim's state of mind because, even though he wasn't an experienced psychiatrist, Gibbs could tell that Tim was in a bad way. He'd definitely be watching him closely tonight.


	13. Numbers and Codes

**Chapter 13**

Ziva leaned back in her chair. "That's really impressive, Mr. Ainsworth. So, what are all these numbers?"

"They're a code. Each set is the reverse of a case number. The alphanumeric sequence beneath each is a simple representation of agents assigned to the case. The numbers below that are their locations, latitude and longitude. Then, beneath the codes are images, scans of data files and stakeout photos. If these had gotten through..." Terence trailed off.

"So, who would have access to this information?" Tony asked curiously.

"Unfortunately, too many people. Pretty much anyone with high standing in the FBI could access the information. More, if they had computer skills. That's why the powers that be are having such difficulty tracking them down."

"Which cases are they?"

"I don't know all of them. I just cross-checked a couple of the number sets to verify that I was right."

"That gives us a good start, but I think we'll need McGee for some of this," Ziva observed.

"Well, not tonight. Gibbs was firm about that. He doesn't want McGee doing anything tonight," Tony said.

"Who is McGee?" Terence asked.

"He's our resident computer nerd. He and Abby, our forensic expert, would love to work with you on this stuff."

Terence watched Tony closely and saw the concern flit briefly across his face. He put it together with Tony negation of McGee working with them and said, "He's the one who was in the accident today."

"Yes. Yes, he was. He's fine though. He just needs some time."

Terence smiled at the uncertainty in Tony's voice. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was worried about his colleague. "That's fine. You're calling the shots. I'm just waiting here."

"You should probably get some sleep. We've set up the shifts and we know who's coming and going now; so there shouldn't be any surprises."

"Good. I place my life in your capable hands," Terence said and leaned back with his eyes closed.

Tony and Ziva fell silent as they took up their positions to wait out the night.


	14. Awkward Silence

**Chapter 14**

Gibbs didn't bring up the scene in the bathroom. Neither did Tim but he sat hunched over his plate waiting for the question. The problem was that he couldn't give an answer. All he knew was that he had been seized by a desire, no a _need_ to get rid of all the blood. He still felt dirty, contaminated, but he didn't have to give in. After dinner, Tim picked up his plate and headed to the kitchen; Gibbs followed. Both were still silent. Tim knew he should try to explain himself, but he was at a loss for words, and Gibbs wasn't giving him any help in how to start. His emotional turmoil hadn't ebbed a jot during the awkward meal. It was consuming his every thought. What amazed him was how normal he sounded (to himself) when he spoke. He felt he should be gibbering unintelligibly in the corner or something like that.

"I'll wash the dishes, Boss," Tim offered.

"You don't have to, McGee."

"I know. Just-just let me do it."

Gibbs regarded him for a moment. "Okay. The soap is under the sink. I'll be working on my boat if you need anything."

Tim nodded and Gibbs disappeared into the basement. He sighed with relief at the absence of Gibbs' embarrassing presence. He just couldn't feel comfortable around him, especially now. He always felt that Gibbs was weighing him and finding him wanting somehow. It was too much pressure. It was all too much. He wasn't the one who should have survived this. As harried and out-of-control as his thoughts had been, he had never wanted anyone to die besides himself and the man. As he dried the dishes, Tim knew there was only one way to make things right. He wasn't sure if he had the guts. He never could do things right. He finished the dishes and looked toward the basement. If Gibbs' house had seemed imposing, the basement was even more so: it was the inner sanctum. Tim was curious about the boat. He was probably the only one who hadn't seen one of the iterations, but he wouldn't dream of stepping down there without express permission. Instead, he wandered outside to the patio and sat on the steps. At first, he just looked around, taking in the relative serenity of the location. There were trees masking its proximity to Washington DC. It was a far cry from the chaos of the morning hours. Tim dropped his head into his hands. It just wasn't fair.

_Why did this happen to me?_ he thought desperately. _There are thousands of federal agents living in this city. I'm not very high up in the rankings. I'm not even a doctor at the Naval Hospital. I'm just a big nobody... and yet... I'm the one he chose to be his unwilling accomplice. Why? Why did all those people die? It should have been me. Everyone thinks so. The police, the nurses, the families... everyone... even me. I should have died. It's not fair!_

Gibbs quietly came up from the basement and watched his agent sitting on the patio. On the surface, this was a simple problem. Tim had been in a car accident. Thousands of them happened every day. They were traumatic but not necessarily life-ending experiences. However, this was Tim, who blamed himself for every mistake he had ever made. Gibbs had tried for four years to get him out of this mind set, but every time they made some headway, something would happen to ruin Tim's self-confidence.

He knew that technically, in the eyes of the law, he could forcibly take Tim to the hospital and have him put on suicide watch, but he also knew that Tim was more likely to open up if he didn't feel pressured to do so. Tim was also one of those people who wouldn't believe something unless he could work through it himself. No matter how many people had told him that that undercover cop's death was not his fault, Tim still insisted on taking the blame for it because _he_ thought he was to blame and no amount of persuasion could convince him otherwise. Gibbs thought briefly of calling Abby. He knew she would drop everything if she thought Tim needed her, but Gibbs wondered if this might not be beyond even Abby's ability to mend. Gibbs shook his head in frustration. He hated waiting, but right now that's what had to happen. Unnoticed, he walked back into the house to continue his observations from a less conspicuous vantage point.


	15. The Plot

**Chapter 15**

There were three speakers. They sat near each other and talked in quiet voices, but gave no indication that they were having an important conversation. They were all old hands at this and knew exactly what to do.

"Well? Where is he? I thought he was supposed to be the best."

"I don't know. He said he was on his way this morning, but I don't know where he was at when he called."

"This is unacceptable."

"I've tried getting a hold of him, but he's not picking up. He was _your_ idea, not mine."

"Are you trying to pass the buck?"

"No. It's a good idea, keeps them off our trail, but don't try to blame me because he's a bit slow. The hospital is under heavy surveillance. It always has been. It could be that he's already inside and waiting for his chance. We didn't give him a deadline, you know. He's not in this out of loyalty or patriotism. He's a mercenary, and he wants to be alive to spend his money."

"What if he decided it's too big a risk and just nipped off?"

"I'll take care of it."

"Really?"

"We'll give him another thirty-six hours. If there's no movement or contact, we'll assume he's out of the picture."

"Plans?"

"I don't know yet. There are a couple of new wrenches in the works."

The third voice chimed in, speaking for the first time. "They shouldn't be any trouble..."

"Quiet! You don't know anything about them. I do. I set up the intel on this whole operation. Besides, I know about what happened earlier."

"That was just luck."

The first voice took over. "So?"

"So, I'll set up contingency plans and I'll let you know."

"Good. I'm not paying you for your good looks."

"I know."

Silence and the second speaker was left alone. He shook his head as he headed back to his place. It was amazing how quickly the best plans could go awry.


	16. The End?

**Chapter 16**

It was almost midnight. Tim was back on the patio. He hardly knew how he'd gotten there or even to this point. He was sitting on the steps staring at the gun in his hand. He didn't think Gibbs was even aware he'd picked it up at his apartment. Tim had almost forgotten himself until he'd seen it in his bag an hour earlier. He had stared at it as the significance hit him with the force of revelation. It was such a part of his routine. He'd even picked up his badge. A sad, empty laugh escaped his lips, sounding more like moan. He was supposed to _protect_ people, not kill them.

Of all the horrible things he'd seen and heard during this day, the one that still stood out most to him was what the man had said to him: _He_ was the one who had to choose who lived and who died. He'd chosen all right. That nurse, Julie, she was right, as was the police officer at the crash site. He, Timothy McGee, was the one who deserved to die. The crash was his fault. That little girl had done nothing wrong, nothing deserving of death. Her mother didn't deserve her injuries. The college student had probably been thinking of nothing more than how wonderful his fiancé was, how exciting it would be to be married. Then, in an instant, his life was over, the girl he loved, in a coma. A couple who had been looking for memories, not pain. That man had planned on killing one person, three total, if Tim had been right. Tim had planned on killing only one, maybe two. At least, he could kill the one person still alive who deserved death.

Suicide... it seemed like the coward's way out, dishonorable, but on the other hand, he deserved nothing better. He thought of the families who had to deal with the losses. If he was dead, they would be able to move on. Justice would be served. Tim flicked off the safety and brought the gun to his head. He was furious with himself when he felt his own hand shaking, betraying his nervousness. He closed his eyes and tightened his finger on the trigger.


	17. Intervention

**Chapter 17**

Gibbs heard the door to the patio slide open. For just a moment, he tensed wondering who was breaking into his house; then, he remembered: McGee. That brought him no sense of relief, however. He stood and looked out the window. Tim was sitting on the patio, holding his own gun. _How did he get that without me noticing?_ Gibbs asked himself. Then, he realized that he'd seen Tim pick it up as they left his apartment, along with his badge. He hadn't thought twice about it. Tim was a field agent; of course, he'd have a gun. Gibbs cursed himself for his thoughtlessness and ran to the door, afraid. For the first time, he was afraid that he'd be too late.

By the time he got there, Gibbs saw that Tim had already brought the gun up to his head. He stopped. The seconds ticked by. Tim seemed frozen. His finger on the trigger, the muzzle of the gun tight against his temple. He didn't appear to have heard Gibbs' approach although he must have. The patio door wasn't silent by any stretch of the imagination. Gibbs noticed the tremor in Tim's hand. So Tim was afraid as well. He decided to walk over and just sit down by Tim. It was certainly unorthodox, but Gibbs had always prided himself on _not_ toeing the line; he just did what was necessary.

Tim didn't move. His eyes opened and stared straight ahead like a deer caught in the headlights, his finger still on the trigger. Gibbs sat there silently for a few seconds, outwardly calm, inwardly fearing that Tim would actually do it. Finally, after an eternity of silence that both men were waiting to be broken by gunfire, Gibbs reached out. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached his hand toward the gun. Tim didn't react.

Gibbs touched Tim's hand first, relaxing his hold on the trigger. He pulled down Tim's hand and took the gun from his now-unresisting fingers. He put the safety back on and set it down beside him. Only then, did he risk saying anything. All he could do was ask the question.

"Why, Tim?"

For a long while, Tim didn't respond. To answer one question meant to answer them all, to let everything out. Gibbs just waited; there was no pushing, no condemnation, just patience.

Fighting back the tears, the emotions that threatened to strangle him, Tim asked a question in return. "Why did they have to die?"

"I don't know," Gibbs answered quietly.

"Why did I have to survive?"

"I don't know, Tim."

"Why did he make me choose?"

"Because he knew that you were a good person. He thought he knew how you would respond."

"I'm not! I'm not..." Tim trailed off and slumped forward from the ramrod posture he'd been adopting before.

Gibbs hesitated. If this had been Abby sitting here, he would have had no trouble comforting her. Why was it that he felt so much more awkward around Tim, more than any other member of his team? His usual method of rough sympathy wouldn't work here. Tim was obviously teetering on the edge of a total meltdown. Slowly, Gibbs put his hand on Tim's shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"You are, Tim."

That was enough. Tim broke down crying, loud gasping sobs that he couldn't hold back anymore. "No," he whispered, the words almost lost amidst the sound of his tortured sobbing. "If I were, they wouldn't be dead. I killed them. I killed them, Boss." Suddenly, Tim stood up and shouted, "I killed two people who didn't deserve to die!" He wasn't looking at Gibbs. He wasn't really even speaking to him. He was shouting to the world at large, the world he felt didn't want or need him in it anymore. He was endorsing the world's rejection.

Gibbs stood and turned Tim toward him. "Yes, Tim. Three people died because of a decision you made." He held Tim's shoulders tightly to make sure he didn't reject what he was trying to get through to him. "You want to take that back, but you can't. You also can't take all the blame for what happened. You weren't the only person in that car. You told me yourself that he grabbed the wheel..."

Tim interrupted, still shouting, "But _I_ made the decision. _I_ chose that course. _I did it!_"

Gibbs never raised his voice. His words were calmed and measured. "You made the first decision, Tim. You didn't make his decision."

Tim tried to pull away from Gibbs' grip but found himself unable to move. He was still crying as he shouted again, "It doesn't matter! My decision led to his!" Abruptly, his voice dropped back to a whisper, yet sounded more anguished. _"My_ decision killed that-that little girl. _My_ decision killed that college student. I tore families apart. _My_ decision did that. And I did it to...to..."

"To save _your_ family. To save a stranger," Gibbs finished when Tim fell silent. "You did both those things, Tim."

Tim shook his head. That wasn't it. "But at what cost? I took three lives to save two."

"Is it the numbers that really are bothering you, Tim?"

Abruptly, Tim began to shout again. "No! It's not the numbers! Three or three thousand, it doesn't matter. They were innocent. They weren't even involved! They didn't choose what happened to them! _I_ did. I did it..." Tim sagged in Gibbs' grip. "...and I'm still alive."

"Yes, you are. You are alive, and they are dead. You can't change that, Tim," Gibbs said firmly.

"I could..."

"Even if you had pulled that trigger, even if you had killed yourself, they would still be dead. You wouldn't have changed the facts. You would just have hidden yourself from the consequences."

"No. It would have been justice, but I couldn't even do that."

"It wouldn't have been justice. It would have been the murder of an innocent victim. You would have killed someone who didn't deserve to die," Gibbs said, deliberately using Tim's own words.

Tim shook his head, denying Gibbs' assertion. "I'm not the victim. I'm the killer."

"Were you in that car of your own free will?" Gibbs asked.

"No, but..."

"Were you planning on driving to Bethesda today?"

"No, but..."

Mercilessly, Gibbs interrupted Tim again. "Would your sister be dead if you hadn't been in that car?"

"Probably, but..."

"Would you have gone through all that just for yourself?"

"No..."

"Do you think your plan would have worked if he hadn't grabbed the wheel?"

"Yes..." Tim whispered.

Gibbs looked carefully at Tim as he asked, "Did you _want_ to die, too?"

Tim didn't answer right away. He thought back to those chaotic moments that had seemed to take forever and yet had been over so quickly. "I don't... know. It would have been a fair trade. It would have been worth it."

"What did you think would happen?"

"I hoped he'd be thrown out the windshield or at least tossed into the dashboard." When Gibbs didn't interrupt, he continued, "My car might have been knocked back into traffic, but a direct hit against the barriers would have kept it from spinning too far. At worst, my car might have flipped forward and tipped onto the shoulder. Cars might have had to swerve away, but I figured fender-benders would be the most serious problem. Then, when he grabbed the wheel, I couldn't think what else to do."

"Why not?"

"I knew that I was dead if I gave up, that he probably would have killed me and then gone back to my place. I couldn't let him get back into control, but I wasn't in control either. I wasn't thinking. I was just reacting. I felt so helpless." The tears still slid down his cheeks. Tim didn't look at Gibbs as he spoke. "But that isn't it. Even when I hit the other cars, the only emotion I remember feeling is... anger."

"Why?"

Tim's face crumpled. "I _hated_ him. I can't remember hating anyone more. He threatened Sarah. He _hurt_ her. I had to stand there and watch him hit my sister. He made me tape her up so that she couldn't move. He didn't care. It was all a job to him, and I couldn't think clearly through how angry I was." Tim stopped again, ashamed.

"What, Tim?"

"I _wanted_ him dead. I didn't just want him unconscious. I wanted to kill him." For the first time, Tim looked into Gibbs' eyes, and Gibbs was surprised at the loathing he saw in them. "I've never wanted anyone to die before. I've never felt that, not even about Ari or the guy who killed Erin. And I did." Tim said the words, but he still couldn't believe it. "I killed someone because I wanted to, not because I felt I had to."

"You didn't really have many options, you know."

"I know, Boss, but don't you see? Even if I had been able to do something differently, I didn't want to. I wanted to kill him. I didn't want to arrest him or lead him into a trap. I didn't want justice. I wanted him dead. Even now, I know that he's dead like those other people, but I don't feel guilty about him, and I should. I don't know which is worse, that I killed those people or that I'm glad he's dead."

Gibbs waited.

Tim whispered, "If he was standing in front of me right now, I'd still kill him. It was my hate that killed those people."

Gibbs was surprised; he thought he was so good at reading people, but Tim had managed to surprise him. He didn't think Tim could possibly have that strength of emotion in him. He dropped his hands from Tim's shoulders. Now, he saw the real source of Tim's misery. Gibbs had been trying to get Tim to see that he had really succeeded. That wasn't the problem. The problem _was_ that he had succeeded. The problem was that in his success he felt he had destroyed every ideal he held dear. Gibbs stared at Tim in silence wondering what in the world he could say. Tim was looking away from Gibbs, toward the road wondering what he should do now.


	18. Distant Thoughts

**Chapter 18**

The soft squeak of a show on the floor brought Ziva immediately to consciousness. "Who's there?" she demanded softly. She pointed her gun at the shadowy figure standing at the end of the hallway.

"Sorry, Officer David. It's Agent Gyllenskog. I was just coming to check in with you and Agent DiNozzo." The FBI agent had his hands high in the air as he stepped into the light. "Shift change."

"I see. I thought you and Agent Lowe didn't switch off for another couple of hours."

Gyllenskog grinned sardonically. "Lowe requested an early change. He says he's going to file a complaint against you."

"I wish him luck," Ziva said, completely unconcerned.

"Uh, do you think you could put your gun away? Or at least point it somewhere other than at my head?"

Ziva looked with surprise at her hand. She had kept it trained on him without a conscious thought. "Of course." She smiled with a hint of malice. "It's a habit."

Gyllenskog's eyes were wide. "I'll keep that in mind. I'll be over here if you or Agent DiNozzo need me. Way over here."

"Thank you. I'll let you know." Once Agent Gyllenskog was out of sight, Ziva stretched and yawned widely. She was getting soft. All this easy living in DC was getting to her. She used to go for days without sleep, but now she was dozing after less than a day. She stood and started to pace to get her blood going again. There had been no sign of another attack, but of course, there wouldn't be until the attack started. No one had managed to find the first assailant. He was obviously good enough to avoid an entire team of FBI agents. No one had even known where the shots came from.

Impatiently, Ziva shook her head at her reflection in a window. Even though she had more or less settled into her position at NCIS, there was still a part of her that wanted to rush out and kill the bad guys, not wait docilely for them to attack. It seemed backward. She decided that Tim was going to help them out tomorrow. Ready or not, they needed him to analyze this data Terence had discovered. The FBI hadn't found anything, but that was no comfort since the mole was somewhere in that organization anyway. He or she could easily have manipulated the results. With Abby at that conference in...wherever it was, Tim the only really good computer geek they had. Besides, it would help him to get his mind off the accident. It had been all over the news, and she sincerely hoped that Tim had not seen it because nothing had been very kind to "the unidentified driver of the Porsche." She shook her head again, this time in disgust at the way people were assuming they knew what had happened.

"Ziva?"

She whirled around, gun at the ready.

"Hey, slow down, turbo!" Tony said.

Ziva put her gun back in her holster. "What do you want, Tony?"

"Shift change? You in the room, me out here? Ringing any bells?"

She blinked and looked down at her watch. Covering her dismay at her distracted thoughts, she said nonchalantly, "Of course. Have fun. Agent Gyllenskog already started his shift. Apparently, Agent Lowe didn't like our first meeting."

Tony chuckled softly. "I can imagine." He watched as Ziva walked back into the room. She had looked so serious staring into the window. He wondered what she had been thinking about. He sat down in the chair and started to think about this case. True, it wasn't their job to solve it, but something about it just felt off. Everything that had happened didn't point to simple espionage. They needed Tim to look through the cases. It would have been nice to have Abby as well, but she was gone to that forensics conference. He smiled as he remembered her bubbly excitement about the upcoming trip. She had talked about it nonstop whenever anyone was in the lab. He couldn't bring himself to suggest that she cut it short. She was the keynote speaker. He sighed to himself and settled in to wait out the remainder of the night.


	19. The Basement

**Chapter 19**

They stood in a motionless tableau. Tim seemed to have lost all power of independent movement. Gibbs was racking his brain trying to decide what he should do next.

"Tim, come with me."

"Where?" Tim asked, still looking at some point in the distance.

"Just come."

"Yes, Boss." Tim followed docilely as Gibbs led him back into the house. He paused when he realized they were headed to the basement.

Gibbs turned at the head of the stairs and saw him standing. He looked afraid. "This isn't holy ground, McGee. Come on."

Tim just nodded and followed Gibbs down the steps. In spite of himself, he looked curiously at the latest boat. It was a beauty, even to Tim's untrained eye. He sat down on a stool facing the boat while Gibbs dug through a pile of junk.

"What's her name, Boss?" Tim asked softly.

Gibbs looked up, surprised that Tim had said anything. "I haven't decided yet."

Maybe he was imagining it, but Gibbs could have sworn that a small smile flashed across Tim's face. His mouth formed a word, a name: _Hollis_. Gibbs turned away so that he wouldn't give himself away. Tim was usually so oblivious. Why had he turned out so astute in this case? He remembered when he had shame-facedly admitted to giving his Tibbs character a love interest, a lieutenant colonel.

"She's beautiful, Boss."

"Thanks." Gibbs found the file he'd been looking for and dumped it onto Tim's lap.

"What's this?"

"Read it, McGee," Gibbs said and walked to the boat and started to work on it, appearing to ignore Tim's presence.

His curiosity piqued, Tim opened the file. It contained photos, a series of newspaper articles, and a case report. It was all about an unsolved murder of a drug dealer. There were obvious surveillance photos and a case photo of his dead body, shot through the head. Then, there were articles about the dealer's various crimes, including the suspicion of murder of a woman and her daughter... who had been killed while her husband was serving in Desert Storm. Tim's eyes focused on the last name: Gibbs. He had known about the death of Gibbs' wife and daughter, but this was something else. "What is this, Boss?"

"You're an intelligent man, McGee. What do you think?" Gibbs said without turning around.

McGee looked down, trying to deny what his eyes were showing him, what his mind was telling him. "Why are you showing me this? Does everyone else know?"

"What do you think?" Gibbs asked again. He paused, then answered the second question, "A few people, not everyone."

"Why are you showing this to me?"

This time Gibbs turned around and stared hard at Tim. "Did you read it?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying, McGee. It's one of those things I don't think you'll ever get good at. What do you get from that file?"

Tim's mouth opened and closed without making a sound.

"You're an NCIS agent, McGee. I'm your boss. Tell me what you surmise from that file."

"Uh..." Tim knew exactly what this file meant, but he didn't want to say it.

"Now, McGee!" Gibbs ordered, never moving his eyes from Tim's face.

Tim swallowed hard and said hesitantly, "There was a drug dealer in Mexico."

"Yes? And?"

"He was suspected of-of murder."

"The murder of whom? I know what's there, McGee. It's not a surprise to me."

Tim swallowed again. "The murder of K-Kelly and Shannon Gibbs. He was found murdered, a sniper shot right through the head. The case is still unsolved."

"Who did it?"

"There's no indication of it in that file."

"Come on, McGee. Act like an agent. The file is in the possession of the husband of Shannon and Kelly Gibbs."

"Circumstantial evidence," Tim said desperately.

Gibbs walked past Tim and unlocked a cabinet. Inside was a sniper rifle. "No longer circumstantial. Say it, Tim. You know what the file means."

Finally, Tim blurted out, "You killed the man who killed your wife and daughter. You tracked him down and killed him. They never found you because you know too well how to hide your tracks. He was a despicable excuse for a human being and no one really cared that he was dead. The case went cold quickly and no one knows... or at least no one knows who cares to reveal it."

"Do you know why I did it, McGee?"

Tim was silent.

"Why, McGee? Say it."

"Revenge," Tim whispered.

"Not justice?"

Unconsciously, Tim backed away. "No. If you had wanted justice, you would have found the way to arrest him. It might have been hard. It might have taken a long time, but you could have done it. You wanted revenge."

Gibbs nodded. "You're right. I was just like you, McGee. I killed a man in anger, but it was worse than what you did. My anger was cold and calculating. I didn't find him right away. I had... some help, but it took time to get to him. The fiery anger that followed my grief had hardened. I wasn't out of control. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I did it anyway."

"Why...?"

"McGee, you did what you did in desperation. It was out of anger, yes. I agree with you that it was your anger informing some of your actions, but it was desperation. Your family wasn't dead yet, but you had seen Sarah in a position of helplessness. You were afraid and you hated the man that had made you feel that way. Am I right so far?"

Tim just nodded, his face drained of color.

"I'm not going to pretend that what happened wasn't at least partially your fault. I can't and be honest, but you cannot, in good conscience, take all the blame onto yourself."

"I..." Tim began.

"No, McGee. You _can't_. It's wrong and it's unjust. It's foolish of you to continue blaming yourself for it. You are too smart to refuse to see what's true when it is staring you in the face."

"I should have waited."

"Yes, you should have done this. You could have done that. If you had known, you would have. All the hindsight in the world can't change what happened in the moment. Do you remember what you did when you took too much time to think after the undercover cop was killed?"

"I-I hesitated. I almost got you killed."

"You were afraid to kill someone who might be innocent, even if it was a million to one chance. Did you hesitate this time?"

"No. I knew what he was and what he could do."

"Good. You learned something."

"But look what happened because of it!" Tim protested.

"I am, McGee. I'm not forgetting the people who died. I know you aren't either. I can't change it, and neither can you, but you can try to finish it and work through it."

Tim sunk back onto the stool. "I don't know if I can."

"Will you try?"

Tim looked into Gibbs' eyes. He had expected censure or condemnation, but all he saw was sympathy. Slowly, he nodded, as tears escaped his eyes.

"Good. Tony and Ziva will be needing your help in the morning, but for now, hand me those nails."

"What?"

"Nails, McGee. Behind you on the work bench."

Tim looked over his shoulder and picked up the nails and handed a few to Gibbs.

"Thanks." Gibbs began to work on his boat.

"Boss?"

"Yes, McGee?"

Tim was staring at the gun Gibbs had put down on the bench.

"I think you should move that gun."

Gibbs turned at looked at Tim. He was in earnest; Gibbs could see it in his eyes that the temptation and the desire to end it all was still there. He nodded, picked it up, unloaded it and put it in his cabinet. Then, he went back to work. Tim sat quietly watching and occasionally handing Gibbs tools. Neither spoke. Gibbs kept working until he heard Tim's breathing deepen. Finally, he looked back and saw him leaning on the work bench, his head pillowed in his hands. He smiled and eased Tim onto a mattress he kept for the occasions when he didn't feel like going upstairs. Then, he settled himself on the stairs and grabbed a few hours sleep.


	20. It's Not Over

**Chapter 20**

"Are you sleeping, DiNozzo?"

The voice came out of nowhere and Tony's eyes opened lazily. Then, he felt a stinging smack on the back of his head. He came awake immediately.

"No, Boss. I wouldn't dream of it."

Gibbs replied sardonically, "It didn't look like that to me."

Tony flushed and stood. He'd only been drowsing for a few seconds, but that didn't matter. He looked behind Gibbs and saw Tim standing quietly. He looked everywhere but at either of the men in the hallway. There was something wrong. Tony looked back at Gibbs, a question on his lips. Gibbs just shook his head with a warning glance. Tony nodded slightly and turned to Tim.

"Hey, McGee. I'm not sure if Ainsworth is awake yet, but you two will probably get along great. He's a geek like you."

Tim just nodded and looked out the window. It had been a bad drive over, and Gibbs knew it was his fault. He hadn't even thought about the radio announcers, and McGee had turned on the radio and heard a few choice comments about the "criminal nature" of the accident. Gibbs had turned off the radio immediately, but it was too late to change what had been heard. Tim hadn't said a word since then.

"Just let me see if he's awake. Ziva's a little punchy lately; so I'll make sure she doesn't shoot first and ask questions later."

Tim didn't respond, and Tony went into the room. Both Ziva and Terence were awake. They looked up as he came in.

"What is it, Tony?" Ziva asked with her hand on her gun.

"Gibbs and McGee are here. I just wanted to be sure that you were both... decent."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Good. I don't understand what Mr. Ainsworth is saying anymore."

"You were doing fine, Officer David."

"Thank you, but no. I'll let McGee talk in that technobabble with you."

Tony grinned and went back out in the hall.

"Ziva's ready to pass the baton to someone more experienced," he said.

When Tim said nothing, Gibbs said, "You and Ziva take a few hours' break. I'll sit out here while McGee is with Ainsworth. Get some sleep and report back by two."

"Will do, Boss." Tony walked back to the room, and Tim followed.

"Good morning, McGee," Ziva said. She noticed Tim's withdrawal but said nothing of it. "This is Terence Ainsworth."

Tim held out his hand. "Hello, Mr. Ainsworth. I'm Timothy McGee. Nice to meet you," he said without expression.

Terence could also see that there was something going on, but he just took the proffered hand and said, "Likewise, I'm sure. I understand you are the computer expert."

Tim nodded. "Generally."

Tony said, "Officer David and I are taking a break. McGee will be in here and our boss, Special Agent Gibbs will be outside. We'll be back by two."

Terence nodded as Ziva stood and collected her stuff. "Thanks for telling me. I'll see you later."

Tony and Ziva walked out into the hallway.

"What's up with McGee, Boss?" Tony asked.

"He heard the news reports, didn't he," Ziva said, flatly.

"Yes, among other things. He needs to work right now. Don't come back early," Gibbs said, shortly.

"Understood."

Gibbs sat and sighed. One step forward, a million steps back. He was afraid that he might not be able to get Tim out of this one.


	21. Misjudgments

**Chapter 21**

"I've heard nothing but good things about you, Agent McGee," Terence said. He was trying to brighten the black mood that had descended with Tim's entrance.

Tim tried to focus. He needed to do something productive. Sarah had called and Tim had said nothing about what happened the night before. She had wanted to get together, but he had begged off, saying that Gibbs needed his help with another case.

"Agent McGee?"

Tim shook his head. "Sorry, Mr. Ainsworth. I-I must not be entirely awake yet."

Terence nodded. "Since we're going to be working together for the next little while maybe we should drop the formal address."

Tim nodded. "You can call me Tim... or McGee. Everyone else does."

"Which do you prefer?"

"Does it matter?"

Surprised, Terence said vehemently, "Yes, it matters. It's your name."

"Then, you can call me Tim."

The dead tone in his voice made Terence very uncomfortable. He took in the cuts and scrapes on Tim's face and hands, his lack of expression, and most importantly the seemingly total lack of interest. This man, whoever he was, did not inspire much confidence.

Tim looked out the window and wished he had gone through with his suicide, but Gibbs had said they needed his help. He could try and do something useful. Maybe he'd even forget for awhile.

"Okay... Terence. I don't know much about what's been going on with this case. Could you go over what you discovered and what happened?"

Terence nodded, doubtfully. "How much experience do you have?"

"In what respect?"

"I was told you were good on computers."

Tim shrugged. "I got my master's in computing forensics from MIT."

Terence blinked. He had leapt to a bad conclusion. "I think you're more than qualified to understand what I found."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Tim's face. "We'll see. Gibbs said something about paintings, but I'm not really up on my art history."

"Good thing for you that these are forgeries then. That's not the important part. What's important is what was underneath them." Terence pulled out the file photos and began to go over the details of what he'd found. Tim was intrigued in spite of himself. Unlike Tony, he followed the tangent of the Archimedes palimpsest and was interested in the new technology. Terence was relieved to discover that he could fall into the technical jargon and Tim still understood. As the time passed, he noticed that Tim became more animated and less withdrawn. Whatever was bothering him had faded. Terence regretted coming to the end of his evidence because he suspected that once Tim began thinking about other things, that deadness would return.

"That's all I have, Tim. Officer David and Agent DiNozzo said that you'd want to go through the case files I found; so I made another list of the numbers and codes."

"Another?"

"I made one for the FBI when I gave them my information. They have already analyzed all the data."

"Why do Tony and Ziva want me to do it as well?"

"Because of the mole, I'd assume," Terence said. He noticed that Tim was starting to withdraw, but he wasn't sure he could draw him back. He handed Tim the list of cases.

Tim looked at them without much interest. It had been nice to think about something else for a while, but the memories of the previous day had reasserted themselves with a vengeance. In an effort to forget them again, he asked, "How are you doing? I mean, beyond this case."

Terence shrugged. "I've been better. I'm better off than my wife and my children."

"What do you mean?"

Terence did not like this train of conversation as it was painful to him, but if it kept Tim from whatever depression he was experiencing, then it might be worth it. "The same day I got shot, my wife did as well. She's in a coma, but I don't even know where she is. My children were all taken out of school and are in protective custody."

"How _did_ you get shot?"

"Apparently, the things I found were more important than I had thought initially. Agent Gyllenskog thinks that someone is actually after me. Unfortunately, my wife was with me when they tried to take me out."

"I'm sorry. Are there any leads?"

"I'm hoping that you can find some. The FBI already went through all the cases, I was told, but they might have missed something that you'll catch."

Tim still looked worn, but he now had some sort of purpose. "I'll do my best, Terence, but I can't guarantee anything."

"There are no guarantees in life... or what's that saying? The only certainties are death and taxes." Terence regretted his words when he saw Tim wince. "What happened to you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I was in an accident yesterday," Tim said. He looked away.

"That one on the Beltway? I heard about it on the radio this morning and yesterday. It sounded awful. Does anyone know who the driver was?"

"Yes."

"Who caused the accident, then?" Too late, Terence realized what Tim's problem was. He wished he could stuff the words back in his mouth.

Tim swallowed and stared out the window. "I did."

"I'm sorry, Tim. That was insensitive of me."

"No, it's the truth. I caused the accident, and I did it on purpose." Tim stood as if to leave.

Terence started to apologize again, but the door opened.

"Hey, Mr. Ainsworth," Tony said brightly. The hours of sleep he'd been able to get had done wonders for him. "We're back. How's it's going, McGee?"

Tim just shrugged and slipped out before anyone could ask him any questions. He saw Gibbs and Ziva standing together in the hallway deep in conversation. Not wishing to speak to anyone he walked to a window and stared outside, looking in the direction of the Beltway. He wondered which was worse: his current guilt over the death of strangers or Terence's guilt over the upheaval of his family. It could be a case of six of one and half-dozen of the other. At least Terence hadn't killed anyone. He looked over at Gibbs and Ziva again. They appeared to be wrapping up. Tim risked approaching.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

"I have enough to get started. I was thinking that I'd go over to NCIS and look through the case files."

Gibbs looked carefully at Tim. He wasn't any better, but at least he was working. "Alright, McGee. Let's go."

"I can take the bus, Boss. I've been doing it for a long time."

"Did I give the impression that this was open for debate, McGee?"

"No, Boss."

"Good. Get to the car."

"Yes, Boss."

As Tim walked down the hallway, Gibbs turned back to Ziva. "So what have you found about McGee's passenger?"

"Nothing, Gibbs. His DNA doesn't show up in any records. No dental work is on file, and since his body was destroyed when McGee's car blew up, we can't even get a picture. Have you asked him to make a composite yet?"

"No. What about his sister?"

"Sarah says that she only got a brief glimpse of him before he grabbed her. She couldn't give many details. He never used a name, and the most she could tell me was that he was very strong. She said that his arm felt like a vice."

"What about the police?"

"They are skeptical, but so far they are not recommending pressing charges."

"Any word on the families?"

"Not that I have heard. The radio people are calling McGee a murderer and I can only guess that others feel the same way. I wish that man had not died in the accident. It was too kind."

Gibbs couldn't agree more, but he just grunted and left Ziva to her guard duty.


	22. Interrogation

**Chapter 22**

Gibbs found Tim leaning against his car with a stillness that was unnerving. "Let's go."

"Yes, Boss."

The ride over was as silent as the others had been. Neither one tried to turn on the radio. When they walked into the bullpen, Tim automatically walked over to his computer and sat down to work. He didn't get to for very long.

"Agent McGee!"

Tim froze. This was something he'd been dreading. "Yes, Director?"

"I would like to see you in my office. Now."

Tim stood and was surprised when Gibbs fell in beside him.

"I don't need to talk to you, Agent Gibbs."

"Yes, you do, Director Shephard."

She gave a long-suffering sigh and turned without comment.

Tim walked up the stairs, each step filling him with more dread. Cynthia actually gave him a sympathetic glance as he passed her desk. He couldn't muster a smile in response. Gibbs shut the door behind him and he felt like a trapped animal.

"Well, Agent McGee?"

"Yes, Director?"

"Would you like to tell me what happened yesterday? Why an NCIS special agent was involved in an accident killing three people and injuring four others?"

Tim opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"I'm waiting, Agent McGee."

Tim tried to say something, but every word he formed in his head withered on his lips.

"What would you like him to say, Director Shephard?" Gibbs asked, coldly.

"I would like him to tell me something that will keep me from having to make an example of him when the families come to me demanding justice."

"I can't tell you that, Director," Tim whispered.

"McGee, be quiet!" Gibbs ordered.

Tim automatically shut his mouth.

"Get back to work," Gibbs said, pointing to the door.

Tim, again without any real conscious thought, began to obey his boss' orders.

"Gibbs," the Director said, warningly.

"McGee is my agent. If you want an explanation, you can ask me instead of attacking him."

"Fine. Then, you tell me."

While they were arguing, Tim slipped out and went back to his computer.

"He's not ready to be grilled about it yet, Jenny."

"Ready or not, we need to know what happened, Jethro. I have already fielded calls from the parents of James Zelaeny, the mother of his fiancé, Lisa Landeros, the children of Alan and Margaret Isaacson, and the husband of Mikaela Koprik. All of them want to know why this accident happened and what is going to be done about it. What should I tell them, Jethro?"

"I don't care, Director. McGee was as much a victim in this accident as they were."

"Or so he says."

"After two years here, do you really think so little of him that you believe he would _lie_ about what happened?"

"No, but what I believe will not matter until I have some information to give them."

"You're the director of NCIS. I know you are capable of spinning things. Isn't that why they hired you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're political, Jen. You always have been. And now, I think you're letting your politics get in the way of defending one of your own. You do have ample experience in that regard." Jen was speechless as Gibbs stalked out of the office. He walked by Cynthia, ignoring her completely, and descended to the bullpen. Tim was hard at work at the computer, his eyes red, but dry. He didn't even look up as Gibbs approached him.

"Have you found anything, McGee?"

"No commonalities as yet, Boss. I'm running a program comparing the agents assigned to each case, the focus of each case and the results of those which have been completed. I also have a list of the forged art and I'm seeing if there is any reason that they were chosen."

"Keep on it, and tell me if you get anything."

"Will do." Tim never moved his eyes from the screen. His whole attention seemed to be focused on the program. Gibbs watched him for a few seconds and then left him to his search. Work would at least keep him from focusing on the events of the last day.


	23. New Agent

**Chapter 23**

"Where's Agent Lowe?" Ziva asked the young agent sitting in the hallway. She had been making her rounds, and the presence of a new FBI agent bothered her.

"He requested reassignment. I'm filling in until Agent Gyllenskog gets back."

"And that will be?"

The fresh-faced agent looked at his watch. "In about an hour. I'm Agent Michael Donaldson, but no one ever calls me that."

"Why not?"

"I'm the new guy. The other agents all call me Don."

"Okay... Don. Tell Agent Gyllenskog that we will be wanting to speak to him when he gets back."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Aren't you going to ask who I am?"

"Oh, I know who you are, ma'am," Don said respectfully. "Agent Lowe told me all about you, and I read the entire case file from cover to cover at least a dozen times. I didn't want to be ignorant of any aspect of it."

"In that case, don't call me 'ma'am'. I'm a Mossad officer, not in the Navy."

"Yes, ma- Officer David," he said, pronouncing her name correctly.

"Good. Thank you, Agent Donaldson."

Don blinked and then smiled at the formal address. He nodded and returned to his seat. As he watched Ziva walk down the hall, he decided she was pretty easy on the eyes. He couldn't see what Agent Lowe had disliked about her. She was hard, yes, but she was on the job. That's what was required. Besides, she'd at least given him some respect, which was more than he could say for his colleagues. She turned the corner and disappeared from view. He found himself wishing that the room was closer to him. Don shook his head ruefully. He was being silly. There were still details of the case to absorb; so he flipped open the files again and began to peruse them idly, all the while keeping an eye and ear open for any invaders. When Agent Gyllenskog touched him on the shoulder, he couldn't figure out how he'd missed him.

"Agent Gyllenskog! I didn't even hear you. I promise, I was paying attention."

"I know you were, Don. Don't worry so much." Agent Gyllenskog grinned at the younger agent's discomfiture. "Anything happen while I was gone?"

"Nothing, in particular. Officer David came by and she said that she and Agent DiNozzo want to see you."

"That's fine. Stay here until I get back."

"Yes, sir."

Agent Gyllenskog turned quickly so that his grimace didn't show. Don almost saluted when he came around. He was young and naive, but time would cure both of those problems, provided he lived that long.


	24. McGee Doesn't Get Angry

**Chapter 24**

When Tony came out of the room for the shift change, he found Ziva looking through the police report on the accident.

"So what did Gibbs say, Ziva?" he asked.

"About what, Tony?"

"You know. About McGee and the guy that he killed."

"McGee said that the assassin must have needed his help to infiltrate this facility. That is the direction and exit they were headed toward when McGee caused the accident. The man did not give specifics, but McGee brought up the point that the man must have had a reason for picking him."

"True. No one knows who the guy was?"

"Not at this time. He was not in any database, not even your DMV. Interpol has not given any useful information either. Whoever he was intent on killing, at least he did not succeed."

"That's something, I guess. I still can't believe that _McGee_ was able to do that."

"Do what? Kill people?" Ziva said, bluntly.

"Cause an accident. He didn't kill them, Ziva."

"Who would you say did then, Tony? This is not another case of not knowing which bullet hit someone. McGee admits that he was trying to crash his car and that he was trying to stop the man."

"Stop him, not kill him. McGee isn't a killer. He's a computer geek."

"Even computer geeks can get angry, Tony."

"Not McGee."

"Haven't you ever seen him get angry before?"

"Yes, but that was a special case."

"You don't think this was a special case?"

Tony shrugged. "I just can't picture McGeek angry enough to cause an accident that could have killed himself just as easily as the man in his car."

"Everyone has their... what do you call it here? Breaking point?"

"I don't think McGee does."

"I think you are mistaken."

"Think what you like, but..." Tony broke off as Agent Gyllenskog came down the hallway. "Ah, Gyl, what can we do for you?"

Agent Gyllenskog ignored Tony's nickname and looked at Ziva. "Don told me that you wanted to talk to me."

"Yes. Why were we not informed of the replacement?"

"It's only temporary."

"Regardless, we should have been told. If it had been dark and Agent Donaldson took me by surprise, I would kill him without a second's hesitation."

"She would, too," Tony agreed. "We need to be kept in the loop, Gyl. How else are we supposed to do _your_ job?"

Agent Gyllenskog gritted his teeth, but just said, "I'll keep that in mind in the future."

"Is there anyone else we should know about?"

"Not that I have been told. Don will be gone as soon as I get back to my post, and Agent Lowe won't be back."

"Good. He's incompetent," Ziva said.

The agent smothered a grin and saluted the two NCIS agents. "I'll be here the rest of the night, but Don will be in and out bringing updates." Then, he turned and walked down the hallway to his post.

"Well, there seems to be one FBI agent that does his job," Tony remarked.

"Two. Agent Donaldson is quite eager. Actually, he reminds me of McGee."

"Nerdy?"

"No, Tony. Over-achieving. He told me that he had read the case file twelve times."

"Yep. That sounds like McGee. Well, I guess you're inside for the next few hours."

"Don't fall asleep."

Tony put on a wounded expression. "I wouldn't do that."

"Just like this morning?"

"I was only resting my eyes," Tony said facetiously.

Ziva went solemn. "I feel like something is going to happen."

"So serious, Officer David."

"I mean it, Tony. Something does not feel right."

Tony put up his hands in capitulation. "Okay, Ziva. I'll keep a weather eye out."

Ziva rolled her eyes and went back into Terence's room without comment. Tony grinned and settled down in the chair. In spite of his jocular attitude, he had every intention of watching carefully. Gut feelings were not to be despised.


	25. Decision

**Chapter 25**

"Anything yet, McGee?" Gibbs asked. Tim had been working for the last eight hours without stopping. He never looked away from the computer screen and he had been almost oblivious to outside stimuli. "McGee!"

"Yes, Boss?" Tim reluctantly tore his eyes from his monitor to look over at Gibbs. When he was trying to solve problems, he was able to separate himself from his own mind. Coming out of that was like getting sucker-punched.

"Anything?"

"Well, the cases don't have any common threads. Different agents, different types of crimes, different levels of success."

"So you have nothing?"

"No. All the cases come from the same department."

"How many people in that department have access to the information?"

Tim sighed. "Over a hundred."

"How many have the ability and authority to sneak out the data?"

"That's the hundred. There are more than 200 people in that office."

Gibbs stared at Tim. This was getting them nowhere. He may have to call Abby back after all.

"Agent Gibbs." The voice rang out through the office.

"Yes, Director?"

"Could I see you in my office, please?"

"Certainly, Director Shephard." Gibbs stood, giving a significant glance at Tim as he headed up the stairs. It said very pointedly that Gibbs was almost through fending off the director.

Tim watched the two go into the office. He was making so little headway on the significance of the information. He kept getting distracted, losing his train of thought as he wandered through recent events. He picked up the case file that Gibbs had given him. He rested his chin on one hand as he flipped through the case information. Then, his eyes focused on a name. A name he had heard recently. He grabbed for his cell phone and belatedly remembered that his had been incinerated. He picked up his desk phone and dialed Tony's cell. Nothing. Then, he dialed Ziva's cell. Nothing. They wouldn't have turned off their cells. Not while guarding a witness.

He stood and looked toward the director's office. He couldn't interrupt Gibbs _and_ the Director. The death certificate would read suicide. He might as well have shot himself. He called Gibbs' cell. There was no answer. Either Gibbs was ignoring it or he had accidentally put it on silent. Tim couldn't waste time waiting. Delay could be fatal. It wasn't that he had no faith in Tony and Ziva, but they weren't aware of the danger. He left a frantic message and ran over to Gibbs' desk. The car keys were laying there. Tim hesitated, knowing what he had to do, but not wanting to do it. His hand shook as he grabbed the keys. Sternly, he told himself that this was silly. He had to do something. Decision made, Tim ran to the elevator.


	26. Collisions

**Chapter 26**

"Agent Gyllenskog, what are you–?" Don's question was quickly cut off when the butt of a gun connected with his head. He fell motionless to the floor.

"Over-eager fool," Agent Jeremiah Lowe spat at the prone figure.

"Shut up, Jerry."

"Fine. Are you sure that device is going to work?"

"Yes. You stay out of sight."

"Why?"

"Because you requested a transfer. You're not supposed to be here and those NCIS agents will know something is up."

"Fine. What's the plan?"

"The only one who has to die is Terence Ainsworth."

"What if they see you?"

"Then, they will be witnesses. That's why I want you out of sight. I can take them out without them seeing me. You are backup. Am I clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. If I see any sign of you, I'll kill you myself."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Jenny and Gibbs walked out of her office, Gibbs looked down at his phone. "Why is my phone on silent?"

"I don't know, Jethro. I didn't do it."

"How do I change it?"

Jenny took the phone and pushed a couple of buttons. "You have a message."

Gibbs took the phone and looked at it. He glared at it. "I hate these things." He accessed his voice mail and put the phone to his ear as he and Jenny left the office.

"Boss... um, Gibbs." Gibbs rolled his eyes at the hesitancy in Tim's voice. "I just found out who the mole is." Gibbs stopped moving and looked at Jenny. She started to ask a question, but he held up his hand as Tim continued. "The lead agent in the Ainsworth case is Jackson Gyllenskog. The-the man I-I killed talked to someone on the phone before the-the accident. He called the man Jackson. The man who attacked Sarah and the man who tried to kill Terence are one and the same. I'm taking the car. The phones are dead. I don't know what else to do." The message ended abruptly.

"McGee's taken my car."

"What?"

"Give me your keys."

For once, Jenny wordlessly handed over her keys without argument and watched as Gibbs ran down the steps to the elevator.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim sped down the road. Every bump made him want to close his eyes. Only the fear that he would not get there in time kept him driving. He avoided the Beltway. Jackson Gyllenskog. It left a bad taste in his mouth and a sense of anger that a man who was supposed to be protecting this country was helping destroy it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It figured that the man he had hired was dead. It hadn't been 36 hours yet, but after hearing the conversation between Tony and Ziva, Agent Gyllenskog knew that he had to speed things up. He had known that there was a problem when Terence had not been killed yesterday. He walked softly down the hall to the corner. That Agent DiNozzo acted like a goofball, but he was serious about his job. He pulled out a strange-looking gun and loaded a dart into it. As he had told Agent Lowe, he didn't want to kill anyone except his target. One shot would take Tony out. He stood silently listening to Tony's pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. When Tony's steps receded, he quickly stepped around the corner and shot him once in the back of the neck. Tony started to turn, his hand automatically reaching to finger the dart; however, the sedative took him down in seconds. He didn't even get a chance to say a word. One down.

He pulled out the video receiver and noted Ziva's position inside the room and then crept down the hall to the next location.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What was that?" Ziva stood and walked to the door, her gun ready.

"I didn't hear anything," Terence said in a worried tone.

"Get into the bathroom and lock the door."

"What?"

"Now, and don't come out until I tell you it is safe." Ziva turned back, all warmth gone from her face. She was not joking and her warning was to be heeded. Terence went into the bathroom feeling like he was headed to a prison. This was not supposed to be happening.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim parked the car and jumped out, grateful that he had his badge as he had no intention of waiting to explain what was wrong. He flashed it to the nurse on duty and ran past her.

"I won't mess up this time," he promised himself.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ziva pulled out her cell phone. It was dead. She grimaced and tossed it to the side. Her gun trained on the door, she sidled over to the phone by the bed and picked up the receiver. It was dead as well.

"This is very bad," she said aloud. She wondered what had happened to Tony. The worst thing she could do now would be to check on him. That would give whoever was out there the chance to take her out as well.

The door flew open and Ziva immediately opened fire.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gibbs knew he could be no more than a few minutes behind Tim, but with the seriousness of the situation, that could be the difference between life and death. He pushed the gas pedal down to the floor. However, he couldn't help admiring Jenny's choice of car. It had great acceleration. He had tried to call Ziva and Tony, but there was no signal. He knew that he was heading into a situation which could end with his whole team dead as well as the witness. In his current state, Tim would be more likely to take dangerous chances. Tony and Ziva would have been more than able to stop this if they had known, but it looked like they had no idea. Finally, he saw the Naval Hospital looming ahead. He increased his speed again. He would _not_ be too late.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the darkness closed in, Ziva heard gunfire, but it wasn't directed at her. She couldn't have stopped it anyway. The dart had been effective. Her last conscious thought was, _How had he known where she was?_


	27. A Life Twice Saved

**Chapter 27**

Tim cursed when he realized that he didn't have his gun. He reached the secured part of the facility and was surprised that no one was on duty. He went around the corner and tripped over a body. He pulled himself up and turned over the man who let out a faint groan. Tim sighed with relief. He wasn't dead... but he had a gun.

"Thanks," he whispered to the man, as he pulled the weapon from the holster, and then crept down the hall. As he peeked around the next corner, he saw Tony sprawled on the floor. Throwing caution to the winds, Tim ran over to Tony and shook him. There was no response, not even a groan, but he was still breathing. He checked him for injuries and found the dart. He turned quickly when he heard a footstep and a bullet whizzed by his ear. Looking for a place to hide, Tim noticed the open door and ran for it. Once he got in, all thought of the gunfire in the hallway left his mind when he saw the sight of Ziva lying on the floor and a man at the bathroom door. There were multiple bullet holes in the door already, and the man was reloading his gun as he turned toward Tim.

"NCIS, drop your weapon!" Tim shouted.

"FBI," the man said almost negligently.

Even though he knew this must be Jackson, the man who had hired the assassin, Tim hesitated. That moment of hesitation was an eternity for a man of Agent Gyllenskog's experience. He threw his gun at Tim's face causing him to flinch. In seconds, he had closed the distance between them and began to grapple with Tim for possession of the gun he held. As they struggled to get a purchase on the gun, it went off. Tim felt a searing pain in his leg, but grimly held onto the gun. His strength ebbed and black spots flickered in his eyes, but Tim would not let go. Then, the struggle flung Tim on top of Ziva's body. He remembered rule number nine and grasped desperately at Ziva's ankle. The knife was there. He pulled it out and stabbed blindly at Gyllenskog. He felt the knife penetrate and was relieved when his opponent stopped fighting for the gun. As Gyllenskog slid to the floor, Tim held onto the knife and stared sickly at the bloodstained weapon.

Finally, Tim pulled himself to his feet and, with the knife in his right hand, pointed the gun at the man on the floor, breathing heavily.

"You're... you're under arrest for-for conspiracy to commit murder and assault of federal agents," Tim panted.

Agent Gyllenskog was not in a position to disagree. He was focused on keeping himself from bleeding to death from the wound in his abdomen.

Tim heard a sound at the bathroom door and spun around, quickly regretting his action as pain lanced down his leg. He pointed the gun at the movement but moved it back to Gyllenskog when he saw Terence.

"Tim? What happened? Is it safe?"

Tim suddenly remembered the other shooter. "Get back in the bathroom, Terence. Don't come out," he said quietly.

"Are you all right?"

"Get back inside, Terence. Please."

Too late. Terence looked beyond Tim and froze.

"Don't move, Agent McGee."

Tim's eyes closed in regret. Now, Terence would die and all this would be for nothing, another death on his hands.

"Drop the gun. And the knife," Agent Lowe ordered. His voice was more cruel than Gyllenskog's had been. This was someone who enjoyed the power he had over others. Tim dropped both weapons as ordered, and like he had the day before, he felt a dull anger burning in his gut. This man was going to kill Terence and kill him whether he obeyed him or not.

Terence stood motionless. He saw the blood dripping down Tim's leg and the look of despair on his face. He knew he had made a big mistake in coming out. Suddenly, he caught a flicker of hope in Tim's expression. Terence saw him mouth the words _On three_. Because Agent Lowe could see his face, Terence didn't dare do anything other than blink slowly. He watched as Tim mouthed, _One. Two. Three._ On three, Tim lunged at Terence pushing him back into the bathroom. Terence heard the gunshot and felt Tim jerk as the two of them crashed into the wall. He waited for a shadow to come over the doorway, to kill them both, and felt Tim trying to stand to save him. The shadow appeared, but he did not hear a gunshot. Instead, Tim turned with a wordless cry and the shadow moved toward him, catching him as he collapsed.

"Boss," Tim gasped. "Agent Lowe..."

"Taken care of, as is Jackson Gyllenskog. What were you thinking, McGee?" Gibbs asked. Then, he took a better look at his agent and said, "Never mind. Tell me later. Where are you hit?"

"Leg, side. I'm sorry, Boss."

Gibbs pulled Tim out of the bathroom and to the bed recently vacated by Terence. He looked back at Terence and asked, "Are you alright, Mr. Ainsworth?"

"Yes, sir. I'm fine. A little sore, but I'll survive," Terence said as he came out of the bathroom. He looked at the two men restrained on the floor. Agent Lowe had a nasty shoulder wound. Both men were in handcuffs and moaning miserably. It was a nice sight for him.

"Good. There should be doctors and nurses in here in a few moments, but I need you to help me with McGee."

"Anything you need." Terence hurried over. One glance at Tim told him that he was in shock and losing too much blood. He put his hands over the gunshot wound on his leg and pressed hard to stop the bleeding. Tim groaned.

Now that the crisis was over, Tim felt his body rebelling at the abuses to which it had been subjected. There were too many bodies floating through his mind, too many motionless bodies.

"Tony? Ziva?" he asked.

"They'll be fine, if a little embarrassed," Gibbs commented wryly. "Just lay quietly, McGee. It would be nice if you could go for more than a day without hurting yourself."

The effort of speaking was becoming greater, but Tim responded, in a voice just above a whisper, "At least I'm already in the hospital this time."

Gibbs chuckled. "Quiet, McGee."

"There was a man in the hall..."

"He's fine. Be quiet."

"Agent Gyllenskog?"

"He'll live."

Tim closed his eyes and sighed. "Good."

"Why is that good, McGee?" Gibbs asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Justice..." he said as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Gibbs nodded. A few moments later the doctors and nurses swarmed and gently but firmly kicked Gibbs and Terence out into the hallway. Tony had already been loaded on a gurney and transported to room; so the two of them were alone.

"So, what happens now, Agent Gibbs?" Terence asked.

"Now, we get you some more guards since your current guards are either under arrest, injured, or both. Then, we find out who Gyllenskog and Lowe were working for and arrest them."

"What about me and my family?"

Gibbs looked over at Terence. He was incredibly calm for someone who had just gone through a second attempt on his life.

"That depends on who hired Gyllenskog and Lowe."

"It's not over then, is it?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Could I at least be with my family? I haven't seen them for a few days and I really miss them."

"I think I could arrange that, Mr. Ainsworth."

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs." Terence looked back toward his room. "How did Tim know?"

"He was in an accident yesterday."

"Yes, I know. I'm afraid I hurt him by inadvertently implying that it was his fault."

"It was his fault in part, but the bulk of the blame goes to the man hired to kill you."

Terence's eyes went wide. "What do you mean?"

"An assassin was hired to kill you. He was also working with Gyllenskog and Lowe and had information on who was involved in the case. He went to McGee's apartment and threatened to kill his sister if he didn't help him kill you. He must have known that McGee was not part of the guard duty and chose him because he was a federal agent and could get him into the secure part of the hospital. McGee went along with it to save his sister, but he didn't want anyone to die. He caused the accident when he attempted to crash his car into the barriers on the Beltway. The assassin tried to stop him and made the car swerve into the other vehicles involved. McGee actually saved your life twice."

"Once would have been enough," Terence said quietly. "How can I ever repay him?"

"If you can stop him from feeling guilty about the people who died in that accident, we will all be repaid."

Terence looked toward the room again. "I'll see what I can do."


	28. How Do I Decide?

**Chapter 28**

Tim opened his eyes and immediately closed them again.

"Welcome back, Tim."

The voice was familiar but he couldn't place it. He opened his eyes again. The room slowly sharpened into focus.

"What are you doing here, Terence?"

"I'm still being guarded. Your team wasn't about to leave you alone. I decided they could hover and guard at the same time."

Tim smiled weakly. "Nice of you." He looked around the room. It was still in the Naval Hospital if he guessed right.

"I'm also here to thank you."

"It's my job."

"No, Tim. You saved my life twice. Once would have left me grateful for the rest of my life, but you saved me twice."

"Twice?"

"You stopped that mercenary, whoever he was, from getting to me. You saved me then and you saved me yesterday at the risk of your own life. I can never repay you for that."

Tim closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. It was only right."

"Tim, I know that other people died. My life is not worth more than theirs, but please, I want to show you something."

Tim opened his eyes. Terence moved closer to the bed and pulled out his wallet.

"I want to show you why I'm so grateful for your help." He pointed to a picture of a smiling family. "This is my wife, Jillian. She's a real artist. We've been married for twenty years. I love her as much now as the first time I saw her. She was almost killed by that-that vermin. She came out of her coma last night and the doctors are hopeful that she'll make a full recovery." Terence took a deep breath and pointed to the other people in the picture. "These are my children. Amy is twelve. She's a dancer and loves astronomy. She can't decide which one she likes better. This is Albert. He's fifteen and still agrees with me occasionally. He's not a very good student, but give him a piece of machinery and he will tell you how it works, take it apart and make it run better. Louise and Michael are the twins. They just turned eighteen last week. It's been hard on them. Both are getting ready to start college. Louise wants to be a teacher, art or physics. Maybe both. Michael has already published some photos and is going to study photojournalism. He's always dreamed of working for National Geographic." Terence put the photos away. "Because of you, Tim, I can be with them again. I owe you my life, but I owe you so much more. I owe you my family."

"You don't owe me anything," Tim said, teary-eyed.

"You're wrong. What would I be without my family? You risked your own life and that of your sister to try and save me, even when you had no idea who I was. My part isn't over yet, but because of you, the major players are out of the way, and I don't have to wait alone. I'm going to join them in my wife's room in a couple of hours. It will be hard, but we'll still be together, a complete family. For that, I thank you."

Finally, Tim whispered, "You're welcome."

Terence smiled as the door opened and an FBI agent who looked younger than Tim entered.

"Ah, Agent Donaldson, right on time. How's your head?"

He smiled ruefully and said, "I'll survive. How are you doing Agent McGee?"

Tim recognized him as the man whose gun he'd taken. "I'll survive. Did you get your gun back?"

"Yes. I'm glad _someone_ could use it. I'm still kicking myself for not realizing that those two were dirty. I look back now and I can see all these signs that they were working for someone else. I can't believe that I wasn't fired. I'd studied the whole case file from cover to cover multiple times, and yet I still never put it together. Instead, Mr. Ainsworth almost got killed again and you NCIS agents were injured." He shrugged. "At least, they won't be able to get away with it. They've rolled over on their employer. It was all I could do to not punch them both out when I watched the interrogation. I feel so stupid."

Tim shook his head. "You couldn't have known."

"You did. You figured it all out, Agent McGee, and saved everyone. You're the hero."

"No," Tim said emphatically. "The only reason I realized that Gyllenskog was involved was because I had information available that no one else had. For all that, I didn't put it together for too long and it came at too high a price."

"I don't think so, Agent McGee. Would it have been better for Mr. Ainsworth to die than any other stranger?"

Tim looked at Terence who was waiting quietly by the door. His gaze turned back toward Donaldson. "How do you make that choice, though?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. You made the choice, didn't you? How did you do it?"

Tim was silent. He was right. Tim had already made the choice. Even if he hadn't known what the results of his choice had been, he had chosen. _Would_ he have chosen differently if he had known?

Donaldson gave Tim a sympathetic smile. "I hope you feel better soon, Agent McGee."

"Thanks," Tim said vaguely. He barely noticed the two men leave. His thoughts raced through what Donaldson had said. Could he have really allowed the killer to take Terence's life? He had tried to keep him from hurting anyone but himself but failed. His hatred had informed his decision, but Tim had to admit that it hadn't been the only thing. His decision had also been formed by his fear... and his training.

"Tim! You're awake!" Sarah rushed into the room and grabbed Tim in a fierce hug.

"Sarah, you're suffocating me," Tim said, pulling at her arms.

"Sorry. If you ever get shot again, I'll kill you."

"That would kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" Tim asked.

Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "I'm serious, Tim. Do you know how worried I was? I was frantic, and they wouldn't let me call Mom and Dad."

"Sarah, I'm alright."

"Now, you are, but before... You looked so pale this morning."

"I'm sorry I worried you."

"Just don't get hurt anymore, okay?" Sarah hugged him again.

"I'll do my best," Tim said quietly. They stayed clasped in a tight hug until the door opened yet again revealing Tony and Ziva.

"Hey, McGee!" Tony said. "Nice to see you conscious again."

Sarah stood back and said, "I'll talk to you later, Tim."

Tim smiled and nodded, squeezing her hand once as she left the room.

To his surprise, both of his teammates looked a little chagrined.

"What's up, guys?"

Tony and Ziva looked at each other.

"Uh, we wanted to thank you for your... timely assistance," Ziva admitted.

"It's no big deal, Ziva. It was just luck."

"No, it wasn't, McGee," Tony disagreed. "We dropped the ball this time."

"You had no way of knowing. I should have thought of it sooner."

"No way, McGee. You're not getting out of it this time. You deserve the credit."

Ziva nodded. "No matter what. You did save both Ainsworth and us."

Tim looked at them. For once, there was no sign of teasing or deprecation. They were sincere, both of them. He smiled a little. "Thanks guys."

Tony grinned. "No, McGee. Thank _you_. Now, if you'll excuse us, we're off to participate in an enjoyable interrogation." He bowed floridly and gestured grandly for Ziva to proceed him out of the room.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The doctor closed the chart with a finality that Tim had been waiting for. "Well, Agent McGee, you're healing well. As long as you don't try to do any driving for the next couple of weeks, there's no reason for you to stay cooped up in here any longer."

"So, I can go home?" Tim asked eagerly. He had been here for too long already, and he wanted to leave. Gibbs had come by a few times to monitor his mental status, not trusting the local shrinks to do the job properly. He had grudgingly allowed that Tim was getting better. If he could leave, then he could take some time to really think without interruption, even from his well-meaning colleagues.

"Yes. I don't want to keep you here longer than necessary."

Tim didn't want to stay longer than necessary either; so a few hours later he stepped out of the Naval Hospital and took a taxi back to his apartment.


	29. Rock Hollow

**Chapter 29**

Tim limped into his apartment. The fingerprint dust was still evident. He'd have to clean everything. Sarah had wanted to stay with him, but he had insisted that he needed some time alone. It was true. He needed to think and that was best done in solitude. He dropped his bag in his bedroom and made a beeline for his typewriter. He sat down and flipped on the jazz music Tony so loathed. The record had been there since the day of the accident. He'd forgotten to put it away. As the mellow notes filled the air, he sat back and thought. _Rock Hollow_ had taken quite a few twists and turns in the last month. Agent MacGregor had been quite prominent in spite of Tim's best efforts to move him into the background. The crisis had reached its peak and MacGregor was at a standoff in the place he came to think. Tim pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began to type.

_MacGregor stood motionless facing the two men who had tried to take everything he loved away from him. He had gone rogue. No one knew where he was, and no one could get him out of this. If he killed them, he was a murderer. If he did not, he was letting them get away with murder. It was a Catch-22. "What would Tibbs do?" he thought to himself. There was no question. Tibbs would be the hero. But how that could be accomplished in this case, MacGregor didn't know. He would lose either way, his job or his life._

"_Well, MacGregor? You have us where you want us. What now?"_

"_Now, you'll have to pay for what you did."_

_A condescending sneer marred the otherwise handsome face of the other killer. "Oh really? And who's going to make us do that? You?"_

_The gun shook in his hand, but MacGregor held firm. "I might only kill one of you, but it's your choice of which one." MacGregor didn't want to let them get away. He would rather die than do that, but he didn't know how he could do that without killing them._

_Suddenly, the choice was taken from him as one of the men sprang at him in an attempt to get the gun. Tim _--Tim stopped and struck out the name he'd just typed then continued--_ MacGregor fired without thinking and the man dropped to the ground. The other took one step and then stopped as MacGregor turned the gun on him._

"_Do you want to die as well?" he asked, trying to ignore the body lying in a spreading pool of blood. "I can help you with that." When the man stayed still, he directed him to lay face down in the dirt. As he watched over him, MacGregor pulled out his phone and called Tibbs. "Yes, it's me. I found them, Tibbs. Or rather they found me. I'm at Rock Hollow."_

_He waited patiently for Tibbs to come all the while watching the living and the dead. What would Tibbs say?_

"_You did what you had to, Tim --_Again, Tim shook his head at the slip--_ MacGregor," Tibbs said when he arrived. "There was nothing else you could do."_

Tim was startled by a knock on his door. He looked back at his typewriter, at the page he had just typed. Was that worth keeping? He didn't know but left it there and walked to the door. He pulled it open.

"Boss! What-what are you doing here?"

Gibbs didn't answer. He stepped past Tim into the apartment.

"Come in," Tim said belatedly.

"How are you doing, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim thought about it. "I'm not sure."

Gibbs looked over at the typewriter and registered the jazz wafting through the air.

"How much did you write?"

"What?"

Gibbs pointed at the typewriter.

Tim flushed. "I-It's probably not worth keeping. I was just getting some ideas down."

"What ideas?" Gibbs asked. Without waiting for an answer, he walked across the room and pulled out the sheet.

"Oh, Boss. It's really not worth reading," Tim protested and closed his eyes in embarrassment when Gibbs ignored him and began to read. This was infinitely worse than having Tony and Ziva read his draft. This was stream of consciousness. No one _ever_ read it besides him, particularly not when there were so many ways for it to be taken badly. He opened his eyes and watched Gibbs read the words he had just written. It seemed to take him forever. After a couple of minutes, Gibbs looked up at Tim.

Tim felt that something was expected of him. He settled for asking, "Well?"

"You're right, McGee."

"I am?"

"There was nothing else you could have done." Gibbs handed the page to Tim who took it with nervous fingers. Gibbs walked by him and out the door. He paused and without turning around said, "See you tomorrow."

"Yes, Boss." Tim watched Gibbs walk down the stairs and then closed the door. He looked down at the page and reread the last words he had typed. He nodded, although still with some sadness. He had done what he had to. There was nothing else.


End file.
